SON. 


'JILL  ARP 


JNCfVIL  WAR  TO  DATE 


BILL  ARP 


FROM  THE  UNCIVIL  WAR 
TO  DATE 


1861  -  1903. 


MEMORIAL  EDITION 


ATLANTA,  GA.: 

THE  HUDG1NS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
1903 


COPYRIGHT%1902 

'C.'f>.'  B'f'RtJ    A'N'D    C.  '  H  .*  «S*M  I  T  K  '. 


n 

CONTENTS. 


THE  HOME  LIFE  OF  BILL  ARP — By  His  Daughter ...  5 

CHAPTER  I. — A  Pretty  Story 15 

CHAPTER  II. — My  Birth,  Youth  and  Manhood 27 

CHAPTER  III. — Behind  the  Scenes 33 

CHAPTER  IV. — The  Aristocracy  and  the  Common 

People  47 

CHAPTER  V.— The  Original  "Bill  Arp" 58 

CHAPTER  VL— "Big  John" 65 

CHAPTER  VII. — The  Roman  Runagee 70 

CHAPTER  VIII. — His  Late  Trials  and  Adventures . .  77 
CHAPTER  IX. — Bill  Arp  Addresses  Artemus  Ward .  .  84 

CHAPTER  X  — Smoking  the  Pipe  of  Peace 89 

CHAPTER  XI.— Trials  and  Tribulations 95 

CHAPTER  XII. — Love  Affairs 101 

CHAPTER  XIII. —Tells  of  His  Wife's  Birthday 106 

CHAPTER  XIV.— Mrs.  Arp  Goes  Off  on  a  Visit Ill 

CHAPTER  XV. —The  Voice  of  Spring , 117 

CHAPTER  XVI.— The  Sounds  on  the  Front  Piazza.  .122 
CHAPTER  XVII.— Mr.  Arp  Feels  His  Inadequacy.  .  .128 

CHAPTER  XVIII.— Uncle  Bart 133 

CHAPTER  XIX.— Cobe  Talks  a  Little 135 

CHAPTER  XX.— The  Ups  and  Downs  of  Farming 140 

CHAPTER  XXI. — The  Family  Preparing  to  Receive 

City  Cousins  . 147 

CHAPTER  XXII.— Bad  Luck  in  the  Family 152 

CHAPTER  XXIII.— The  Struggle  for  Money 158 

CHAPTER  XXIV.— New  Year's  Time 167 

CHAPTER  XXV. — Old  Things  are  Passing  Away, 

and  All  Things  Have  Become  New 173 

CHAPTER  XXVI.— But  Once  a  Year 179 

CHAPTER  XXVII.— Grandfather's  Day— The  Little 

Urchins  of  the  Third  Generation. .  .  .  191 


M66164 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII.— Making-  Sausage 201 

CHAPTER  XXIX.— The  Old  Trunk 207 

CHAPTER  XXX.— On     the    Old    Times,    Alexander 

Stephens,  etc 212 

CHAPTER  XXXI.— Sticking-  to  the  Old 219 

CHAPTER  XXXIL— A  Prose  Poem  on  Spring- 224 

CHAPTER  XXXIII.— Christmas  on  the  Farm 229 

CHAPTER  XXXIV.— Democratic  Principles 234 

CHAPTER  XXXV.— The  Old  School  Days 239 

CHAPTER  XXXVI.— Roasting-  Ears  and  the  Midnig-ht 

Dance 252 

CHAPTER  XXXVII.— Open  House 257 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII.— The  Old  Tavern 263 

CHAPTER  XXXIX.— The  Old-Time  Darkeys 268 

CHAPTER  XL. — Owls,  Snakes  and  Whang--doodles . .  277 

CHAPTER  XLL—  Music 283 

CHAPTER  XLII.—  The  Autumn  Leaves 292 

CHAPTER  XLIIL— Uncle  Tom  Barker 297 

CHAPTER  XLJV.—  Bill  Arp  on  Josh  Billings 305 

CHAPTER  XLV.— The  Code  Duello 310 

CHAPTER  XLVL— "Billy  in  the  Low  Grounds" 318 

CHAPTER  XLVIL—  William  Gets  Left 322 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. — Pleasures  of  Hope  and  Memory. 327 
CHAPTER  XLIX. — Arp's     Reminiscences    of     Fifty 

Years 333 

CHAPTER  L.— "A  Mother    is   a   Mother    Still,    the 

Holiest  Thing  Alive" 342 

CHAPTER  LI.— Good  People,  but  They  Don't  Under 
stand  347 

CHAPTER  LII. — American  Slavery — Its  Origin 351 

CHAPTER  LIU. — Children's  Heritage  from  the  Lord. 356 
CHAPTER  LIV. — William    and   His   Wife  Visit   the 

City 361 

CHAPTER  LV. — The  Buzzard  Lope 367 

CHAPTER  LVI. — Up  Among  the  Stars 373 


BILL   ABP. 


THE  HOME  LIFE  OF  BILL  ARP. 


BY  His  DAUGHTEE. 

The  events  of  my  father's  life  may  be  chronicled 
in  a  few  lines,  but  it  would  take  many  pages  to  tell 
of  the  mental  and  spiritual  gifts  that  made  that  life 
notable,  and  of  its  influence  over  a  wide  circle  of 
known  and  unknown  friends.  Still  more  potent  was 
the  impress  of  his  character  upon  those  nearest  to 
him,  whose  privilege  it  was  to  see  him  day  by  day 
and  partake  of  the  wit,  wisdom,  kindliness  and  humor 
that  made  him  the  most  fascinating  of  companions  to 
his  children.  He  has  himself  told  in  this  book  the 
main  incidents  of  his  career ;  how  his  father,  Asahel 
Reid  Smith,  a  sturdy  young  son  of  Massachusetts, 
came  South  to  teach  school  and  married  his  fourteen- 
year-old  pupil,  pretty  little  Caroline  Maguire,  whose 
story  as  her  son  has  written  it,  is  most  interesting 
and  romantic.  They  were  married  near  Savannah 
but  later  moved  to  Lawrenceville,  Gwinnett  County, 
where  my  father  was  born  on  June  15th,  1826,  the 
eldest  of  ten  children.  My  grandfather  became  a 
thriving  merchant  of  Lawrenceville,  postmaster  as 
well,  and  my  father  has  told  us  many  entertaining 
stories  of  the  days  when  he  used  to  "ride  the  mail" 
and  sell  ribbons  and  things  to  the  girls. 

After  some  time  spent  in  a  manual  labor  school, 
he  went  to  college  at  Athens,  where  he  was  the  class 
mate  and  friend  of  many  of  the  notable  men  of  later 
days.  He  held  his  friends  in  the  greatest  esteem  and 
affection,  and  it  was  one  of  the  sorrows  of  his  long 
life  to  see  them  pass  away  one  by  one. 


6  BILL   AEP. 

Alter  his  graduation  at  Franklin  College,  now  the 
University  of  Georgia,  my  father  studied  law  in  the 
office  of  Judge  Nathan  Lewis  Hutchins  of  Lawrence- 
ville,  and  was  admitted  to  the  bar.  Here  also  he  had 
the  privilege  of  association  with  the  noted  politicians, 
lawyers  and  judges  that  made  of  Georgia  history  of 
that  day  a  series  of  brilliant  chapters. 

In  1849  he  married  Mary  Octavia  Hutchins,  the 
daughter  of  his  preceptor,  then  only  seventeen  years 
old.  The  following  poem  was  written  in  her  album 
while  they  were  sweethearts: 

TO  OCTAVIA. 

I  've  not  the  Bard 's  rich  gift  or  Poet 's  soul 
To  pen  my  feelings  in  a  tuneful  rhyme; 

I  have  no  power  that  can  at  will  control 

The  thoughts  and  breathings  of  my  humble  mind. 

A  heart  to  feel,  and  knowledge  to  discern 

The  ties  of  friendship,  and  of  love,  are  mine; 

May  these,  Octavia,  gain  the  kind  return 
Of  real  friendship  from  that  heart  of  thine. 

An  album's  pages  tell  of  many  a  friend 
Pleasant  to  sight  and  to  the  memory  dear; 

Each  loves  to  wish  thee  well,  and  to  blend 
Thy  destiny  with  joys  and  hope  sincere. 

Thine  be  the  lot  that  gives  to  others  joy, 
For  thus  you'll  reap  a  harvest  of  your  own; 

May  no  misfortune,  pain,  or  cares  annoy 
And  'garlands  in  thy  path  of  life  be  strewn. 

When  incense  on  the  sacred  altar  burned 

Its  odours  seemed  in  prayerful  clouds  to  rise; 

So  may  our  wishes  all  to  Heaven  turned 
Procure  rich  blessings  for  thee  from  the  skies. 

— Charles. 


BILL   AEP.  7 

Fifty-four  years  they  lived  together,  and  all  the 
days  of  those  years  were  a  continuation  of  that 
youthful  devotion. 

Shortly  after  their  marriage  my  father  and  mother 
moved  to  Rome,  where  he  began  the  practice  of  law, 
associated  with  Judge  J.  W.  H.  Underwood.  When 
the  war  began  he  became  a  staff  officer  with  General 
Francis  Bartow,  later  was  assigned  by  President 
Davis  to  special  judiciary  duty  in  Macon.  It  was  on 
his  return  to  Eome  in  1865  that  he  began  to  write 
regularly  over  the  nom  de  plume  of  Bill  Arp,  but  his 
first  letter  appeared  in  1861,  and  is  as  follows : 

"Kome,  Ga.,  April,  1861.— Mr.  Linkhorn:  Sur: 
These  are  to  inform  you  that  we  are  all  well,  and 
hope  these  lines  may  find  you  in  statue  ko.  We 
received  your  proklamation,  and  as  you  have  put  us 
on  very  short  notis,  a  few  of  us  have  conkluded  to 
write  you,  and  ax  for  a  little  more  time.  The  fact 
is,  we  are  most  obleeged  to  have  a  few  more  days,  for 
the  way  things  are  happening,  it  is  utterly  onpossible 
for  us  to  disperse  in  twenty  days.  Old  Virginny,  Ten 
nessee,  and  North  Callina,  are  continually  aggra- 
vatin  us  into  tumults  and  carousements,  and  a  body 
can't  disperse  until  you  put  a  stop  to  sich  onruly  con- 
dukt  on  their  part.  I  tried  my  darndest  yisterday 
to  disperse  and  retire,  but  it  was  no  go ;  and  besides, 
your  marshal  here  ain't  doing  a  darned  thing— he 
don't  read  the  riot  act,  nor  remonstrate,  nor  nothing, 
and  ought  to  be  turned  out.  If  you  conklude  to  do 
so,  I  am  orthorized  to  rekummend  to  you  Colonel 
Gibbons  or  Mr.  McLung,  who  would  attend  to  the 
bizness  as  well  as  most  anybody. 

"The  fact  is,  the  boys  round  here  want  watchin, 
or  they'll  take  sumthin.  A  few  days  ago  I  heard 
they  surrounded  two  of  our  best  citizens,  because 


8  BILL   AEP. 

they  was  named  Fort  and  Sumter.  Most  of  em  are 
so  hot  that  they  fairly  siz  when  you  pour  water  on 
em,  and  that's  the  way  they  amke  up  their  military 
companies  here  now— when  a  man  applies  to  jine  the 
volunteers,  they  sprinkle  him,  and  if  he  sizzes  they 
take  him,  and  if  he  don't  they  don't. 

"Mr.  Linkhorn,  sur,  privately  speakin,  I'm  afeerd 
I'll  git  in  a  tite  place  here  among  these  bloods,  and 
have  to  slope  out  of  it,  and  I  would  like  to  have  your 
Skotch  cap  and  kloak  that  you  traveled  in  to  Wash 
ington.  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  be  likely  to  use  the 
same  disgize  agin,  when  you  left,  and  therefore  I 
would  propose  to  swap.  I  am  five  feet  five,  and 
could  git  my  plow  breeches  and  coat  to  you  in  eight 
or  ten  days  if  you  can  wait  that  long.  I  want  you 
to  write  me  immegitly  about  things  generally,  and  let 
us  know  wherebouts  you  intend  to  do  your  fitin. 
Your  proklamation  says  something  about  takin  pos 
session  of  all  the  private  property  at  'All  Hazards.' 
We  can't  find  no  such  place  on  the  map.  I  thot  it 
must  be  about  Charleston,  or  Savannah,  or  Harper 's 
Ferry,  but  they  say  it  aint  anywhere  down  south. 
One  man  said  it  was  a  little  Faktory  on  an  iland  in 
Lake  Champlain,  where  they  make  sandbags.  My 
opinion  is  that  sandbag  bisness  won't  pay,  and  it  is 
a  great  waste  of  money.  Our  boys  here  carry  there 
sand  in  there  gizzards,  where  it  keeps  better,  and  is 
always  handy.  I'm  afeered  your  government  is 
givin  you  and  your  kangaroo  a  great  deal  of  onneces- 
sary  trubbul,  and  my  humble  advice  is,  if  things 
don't  work  better  soon,  you'd  better  grease  it,  or 
trade  the  darned  old  thing  off.  If  you  don't  trade  or 
do  sumthin  else  with  it  soon,  it  will  spile  or  die  on 
your  hands,  sertain. 

"Give  my  respekts  to  Bill  Seward  and  the  other 


BILL    AKP.  9 

members  of  the  kangaroo.  What's  Hannibal  doin? 
I  don't  hear  anything  from  him  nowadays.  Yours, 
with  care,  BILL  AKP. '  > 

My  father  has  already  told  how  he  came  to  use  the 
name  which  he  has  made  famous  throughout  the 
South.  The  original  Bill  Arp,  an  illiterate  country 
man,  moved  to  Texas,  and  for  some  years  after  news 
paper  paragraphs  confusing  his  identity  and  my 
father 's  were  both  annoying  and  amusing.  We  have 
long  since  lost  trace  of  him. 

In  October,  1877,  we  moved  to  Bartow  County,  my 
father  having  purchased  a  farm  which  he  subse 
quently  sold  to  Sam  Jones,  the  evangelist.  The  new 
home  was  called  Fontainebleau,  from  Mr.  Francis 
Fontaine,  the  previous  owner.  As  the  boys  grew  up 
and  left  the  farm  for  more  congenial  occupations 
and  my  father's  duties  as  writer  and  lecturer  took 
him  much  from  home,  it  was  decided  to  leave  the 
country  and  settle  in  Cartersville,  where  we  have 
since  lived  at ' '  The  Shadows, ' '  and  where  my  father 
died  on  August  the  24th,  aged  seventy-seven  years. 

The  family  tree  is  one  which  has  now  many 
branches.  There  were  ten  children  in  the  original 
family ;  there  were  thirteen  of  us,  ten  are  now  living. 
The  children  and  grandchildren  may  be  thus  de 
scribed  : 

1.  Hines  M.  Smith,  civil  engineer,  Home,  Ga.,  mar 
ried  Miss  Sparks,  of  Athens,  Ga.,  five  children. 

2.  Royal  Randolph  Smith,  civil  engineer,  Carters 
ville,  Ga.,  married  to  Miss  Ayer  of  Rome,  Ga.,  three 
children. 

3.  Harriet  Hutchins  Smith,  married  to  George  H. 
Aubrey,  Cartersville,  Ga.,  five  children.    Mr.  Aubrey 
is  a  grandson  of  Hon.  John  Forsyth,  former  Gov 
ernor  of  Georgia. 


10  BILL   ABP. 

4.  Frank    Clifton    Smith,    civil    engineer,    San 
Antonio,  Texas,  married  to    daughter    of    Colonel 
Stanwood  of  Ohio,  two  children. 

5.  Victor  Smith,  with  New  York  Press,  unmarried. 

6.  Marian  Smith,  living  at  home. 

7.  Stella  Smith,  widow  of  the  late  E.  H.  Brumby; 
living  at  home ;  one  child. 

8.  Ealph  Smith,  physician,  Marietta,  Ga.,  married 
to  Miss  Sara  Keely,  of  Philadelphia ;  one  child. 

9.  Carl  Smith,  in  Mexico ;  unmarried. 

10.  Jessie  Smith,  married  to  William  Young,  of 
Cartersville,  Ga. ;  three  children. 

Besides  these  there  were  two  nieces  of  my  mother, 
brought  up  as  members  of  the  family. 

11.  Mrs.  Julia  Iverson  Patton,  of  Atlanta,  Ga. 

12.  Mrs.  Minnie  Iverson  Randolph,  Atlanta,  Ga. 

My  father 's  weekly  letters  to  the  Atlanta  ' '  Consti 
tution  "  and  the  Louisville  "Home  and  Farm"  were 
widely  read  and  copied  and  brought  him  in  close 
touch  with  people  North,  South,  East  and  West.  In 
addition  to  this  work  he  published  the  following 
books : 

"Bill  Arp's  Letters,"  1870. 

"Bill  Arp's  Scrap  Book,"  Humor  and  Philosophy, 
1884. 

"The  Farm  and  Fireside,"  1891. 

"History  of  Georgia,"  1895. 

"From  the  Uncivil  War  to  Date,"  1903. 

Always  an  early  riser,  it  was  his  habit  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  halls  of  the  home  playing  the  flute  to 
waken  us  in  the  morning,  or  playing  the  piano  in  his 
own  unique  fashion,  all  on  the  black  keys,  but  pecu 
liarly  sweet  and  effective  as  he  did  it.  One  of  my 
earliest  recollections  is  of  being  aroused  by  the 
strains  of  the  flute,  when  climbing  out  of  bed,  night- 


BILL   AEP.  11 

gowned,  barefooted,  I  toddled  to  his  side  and  with 
the  other  children  marched  up  and  down  the  hall 
clinging  to  his  dressing  gown  while  he  played  ' '  Way 
Down  in  Shinbone  Alley, "  "Run,  Nigger,  Run," 
and  other  old-time  tunes,  until  nurse  came  to  get  us 
ready  for  breakfast. 

His  loving  care  of  us  as  little  ones  continued  in 
after  years,  when  he  unselfishly  shared  our  larger 
griefs,  or  rejoiced  with  us  in  our  pleasures  and 
pastimes.  How  often  as  I  have  told  him  of  some 
sorrow  or  disappointment  would  he  gently  stroke  my 
hand  and  say  earnestly:  "Even  this  shall  pass 
away."  His  example  led  us  to  love  the  church;  by 
his  side  we  managed  to  live  through  many  a  long 
and  tiresome  discourse,  comforted  by  smuggled  can 
dies  or  peppermint  drops. 

The  following  story  illustrates  his  interest  even  in 
children  not  his  own: 

During  one  of  his  lecture  trips  he  was  travelling 
in  the  car  with  a  tired  mother  and  several  restless 
little  children.  One  little  one  begged,  "Mama,  may 
I  suck  my  thumb?"  The  mother  refused,  evidently 
feeling  that  discipline  must  be  maintained.  My 
father's  child-loving  heart  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
so  he  said  in  his  courteous  way,  "Madam,  I  think, 
under  the  circumstances,  I  would  let  her  suck  hor 
thumb." 

We  never  realized  what  a  rare  privilege  was  ours 
in  having  such  a  companion  until  we  moved  to  the 
country.  Here  a  certain  degree  of  privation  fol 
lowed  closely  on  our  footsteps.  We  had  to  practice 
hitherto  unknown  economies  and  to  shoulder  house 
hold  cares  that  were  new  to  us,  but  he  was  the  lever 
that  made  things  easy.  His  very  cheerfulness  was  a 


12  BILL    AKP. 

godsend,  and  his  philosophy  lightened  many  difficult 
and  uncongenial  tasks. 

After  work  hours  or  on  Sundays  he  would  call  us 
all  for  a  walk,  l  i  go  to  Nature 's  Church, "  as  he  said. 
Such  lessons  in  natural  history  and  botany!  We 
were  taught  to  respect  the  very  worm  that  crawls; 
to  know  when  and  where  to  find  the  first  wild  flow 
ers  and  fruits— taught  in  his  broad-minded,  reverent 
way  the  wonders  of  mother  earth.  He  never  ceased 
to  study  these  great  mysteries  himself,  and  it  was 
this  nearness  to  nature  that  made  him  the  noble, 
clean-hearted  man  he  was  to  the  day  he  died. 

On  long  winter  evenings  he  would  gather  us  around 
a  huge  wood  fire  and  tell  us  wonderful  tales  of  his 
boyhood,  of  his  mother 's  life,  of  the  war,  and  stories 
of  the  great  and  good  people  he  had  known  in  both 
real  life  and  books. 

He  did  not  care  for  the  ephemeral  literature  of  the 
time,  but  was  rarely  versed  in  standard  works  of 
both  poetry  and  prose.  The  Bible  and  Josephus  were 
his  daily  companions,  and  his  library  contained  ref 
erence  books  of  every  kind,  through  which  he  con 
stantly  added  to  his  store  of  knowledge,  giving  it  out 
in  conversation  and  letters  with  generous  heart  to 
those  less  wise  or  learned. 

I  have  heard  him  chuckle  over  a  good  joke  in  his 
own  whole-hearted  fashion,  or  have  seen  the  tears  in 
his  eyes  as  he  read  some  touching  story  of  human 
interest.  He  encouraged  every  member  of  the  fam 
ily  to  love  music  and  good  books;  he  would  allow 
nothing  but  good-natured  gossip  of  our  friends  and 
neighbors.  His  last  years  at  the  "Shadows"  were 
devoted  to  his  garden;  flowers  and  fruits  grew  for 
him  to  perfection.  Eoses  and  old-fashioned  pinks 
were  his  favorites.  Every  morning  the  rarest  bios- 


BILL.    A  HP.  13 

sona  was  culled  and  laid,  a  morning  greeting,  at  my 
mother's  breakfast  plate.  Later  in  the  day  we  were 
all  expected  to  gather  in  the  garden  and  enjoy  its 
delights  with  him.  He  shared  his  flowers  with  all  the 
friends  who  came  to  see  us,  presenting  a  short- 
stemmed,  old-fashioned  bouquet  to  each  one,  with  a 
courtly,  old-time  grace  peculiar  to  himself. 

The  Confederacy  was  a  passion  with  my  father. 
He  loved  to  honor  the  old  South  and  her  veterans. 
It  was  something  worth  living  for  to  hear  him  tell 
an  appreciative  audience  of  the  old  days,  and  defend 
the  rights  of  his  people.  He  was  peculiarly  gifted 
as  a  story-teller;  he  never  forgot  an  incident  or  a 
name.  During  his  last  illness  the  question  arose  con 
cerning  the  name  of  a  New  York  physician  who 
figured  in  an  incident  some  twenty  years  ago.  No 
one  could  recall  it.  The  question  was  put  to  my 
father,  who  was  tossing  and  muttering,  semi-de 
lirious.  A  moment  of  quiet,  a  look  of  intelligence, 
and  the  name  was  uttered  clearly— then  an  immedi 
ate  lapse  into  unconsciousness.  As  a  college  girl  I 
always  declared  I  "  never  needed  a  dictionary  or  an 
encyclopedia — papa  knew  everything." 

The  day  came  when  he  grew  too  feeble  to 
walk  in  his  garden,  or  to  read  or  write  as  he  had 
always  done.  Then  he  would  totter  out  to  his  chair 
on  the  porch  and  with  his  "far-glasses"  on  wait 
patiently  for  the  coming  of  his  little  grandchildren. 
His  mind,  grown  childlike,  craved  their  companion 
ship.  The  love  of  children  for  him  was  only  equalled 
by  his  love  for  them.  Half  the  little  ones  in  the  town 
called  him  "grandpa."  Hardly  a  day  passed  that 
he  did  not  get  letters  from  boys  and  girls  of  all  ages, 
and  never  did  he  fail  to  answer  them. 

His  daily  mail  was  one  of  his  greatest  pleasures. 


14  Bn^  ABP. 

Letters  came  from  all  over  the  United  States,  with 
questions  and  requests  of  all  kinds.  Hundreds  wrote 
just  to  tell  of  the  sunshine  he  had  brought  into  their 
lives.  Since  he  has  gone  from  us  the  letters  continue 
to  come  from  known  and  unknown  friends,  written 
as  if  with  one  pen:  "The  loss  is  not  yours  alone; 
our  loss  is  great ;  the  whole  South  mourns  with  you. " 
All  this  sympathy  and  appreciation  is  a  priceless 
treasure  to  us  who  mourn  our  truest  friend  and  dear 
est  companion. 

We  laid  him  away  under  a  pall  of  beautiful  flow 
ers  sent  by  those  who  loved  him,  in  the  little  ceme 
tery  at  Cartersville,  for  he  said  he  wanted  to  be  near 
us  still  in  both  body  and  spirit.  In  the  same  grave 
with  him  is  the  body  of  his  youngest  grandchild,  little 
Sara,  eight  months  old,  the  daughter  of  my  brother 
Ealph,  who  died  within  a  week  after  he  passed  away. 

If  one  might  write  my  father 's  epitaph  in  the  lan 
guage  of  a  great  poet,  it  would  be  this : 

"He  was  a  man,  take  him  for  all  in  all, 
I  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again." 

— Marian  Smith. 


BILL   AEP.  IS 


CHAPTER  L 


A  PRETTY  STORY. 

My  dear  young  friends :  Let  me  tell  you  a  pretty 
story.  Just  a  hundred  years  ago  there  was  a  young 
man  hanged  in  Dublin,  Ireland,  for  committing  trea 
son  against  the  English  government.  His  name  was 
Eobert  Emmet,  and  his  crime  was  that  of  organizing 
a  rebellion  which  was  intended  to  set  Ireland  free 
from  the  dominion  of  England  and  to  place  his  native 
land  among  the  nations  as  free  and  independent.  The 
rebellion  failed,  and  its  leaders  had  to  escape  for 
their  lives.  Emmet  was  one  of  the  most  eloquent  ancl 
gifted  men  in  all  the  land.  He  graduated  with  high 
honors  at  Trinity  College,  and  at  this  time  was  en 
gaged  to  be  married  to  Miss  Curran,  the  beautiful 
daughter  of  the  great  Irish  lawyer,  John  Philpot 
Curran.  After  the  rebellion  was  crushed  he  fled  to 
France,  where  he  remained  for  two  years,  and  then, 
in  disguise,  went  back  to  Ireland  to  marry  the  lady 
he  loved  and  bring  her  to  the  United  States.  But 
English  detectives  were  on  his  track  and  arrested 
him.  He  was  tried,  convicted  and  hanged,  and  his 
affianced  died  of  a  broken  heart.  His  speech  made  in 
his  own  defense  was  the  most  eloquent,  pathetic  and 
patriotic  ever  delivered  in  any  court  room.  I  used 
to  speak  part  of  it  when  I  was  a  schoolboy,  and  still 
recall  the  last  sentence,  "  When  I  am  dead  let  no  man 
write  my  epitaph— until  Ireland  is  free  let  not  my 
epitaph  be  written. ' ' 

This  is  enough  of  Robert  Emmet,  but  it  is  only  a 


16  BILL   AEP. 

pointer  to  my  story.  Among  Emmet's  college  com 
panions  and  his  comrades  in  the  rebellion  were  two 
brothers  whose  names  were  James  and  Patrick  Ma- 
guire.  They  were  the  younger  sons  of  Sir  Francis 
Maguire,  a  member  of  Parliament  and  a  very  weal 
thy  gentleman.  He  did  not  favor  the  rebellion,  but 
could  not  control  his  younger  boys.  They,  too,  had 
to  flee  the  country,  and  did  so  in  a  vessel  that  their 
father  bought  and  equipped  for  that  purpose.  They 
came  to  Charleston,  S.  C.,  in  1803  and  began  business 
as  linen  merchants.  In  the  course  of  a  year  or  two 
Patrick  sold  his  interest  and  changed  his  abode,  but 
James  continued  the  business  and  married  Emily 
Barret.  Two  children  were  born  to  them,  James  and 
Caroline.  When  these  children  were  nine  and  seven 
years  of  age  the  yellow  fever  visited  Charleston,  and 
in  a  brief  time  swept  half  of  the  population  into  their 
graves.  Maguire  and  his  wife  died  almost  simultan 
eously,  and  were  buried  by  night  in  the  same  grave— 
for  all  night  long  the  hearses  and  dead  carts  were 
rumbling  over  the  cobble  stones,  their  tires  bound  in 
bagging  to  smother  the  noise. 

Now,  my  children,  this  brings  me  to  the  saddest 
and  sweetest  part  of  my  story.  The  pestilence  was 
awful.  All  who  could  fly  from  it  did  so,  but  there 
were  thousands  who  had  nowhere  to  go  or  who  could 
not  leave  the  dead  and  dying  in  their  own  households. 
A  good  man  came  and  took  James,  the  boy,  to  his 
home,  and  a  good  woman  took  Caroline.  Next  morn 
ing  an  order  was  issued  that  all  children  who  had  no 
homes  should  be  put  on  board  the  vessels  that  were 
anchored  near  the  city  and  sent  to  some  other  port. 
In  the  confusion  there  was  no  effort  made  to  keep 
brothers  and  sisters  together,  and  James  was  placed 
on  board  a  brig  bound  for  Boston,  and  Caroline  on  a 


BILL   AKP.  17 

schooner  under  sail  for  Savannah,  but  neither  knew 
what  had  become  of  the  other.  Just  imagine  their 
grief  and  desolation.  Alone  in  the  wide  world— no 
father  or  mother,  no  kindred,  no  loving  friends! 
After  a  stormy  voyage  the  brig  reached  Boston, 
where  the  boy  was  placed  in  an  orphan  asylum. 
Caroline  was  landed  in  Savannah  and  found  a  home 
in  an  asylum  there.  The  matrons  in  charge  of  each 
were  good  and  kind,  but  the  children's  eyes  were  red 
and  their  pillows  wet  with  weeping.  They  were  just 
old  enough  to  realize  what  they  had  lost. 

Now,  let  us  skip  over  two  or  three  years.  When 
James  was  ten  years  old,  a  wealthy  gentleman,  a 
manufacturer  of  boots  and  shoes  who  lived  at  Ran 
dolph,  fifteen  miles  east  of  Boston,  came  to  the  asy 
lum  to  choose  a  boy  to  wait  on  him  in  his  counting 
room.  James  was  a  bright  and  handsome  lad,  and 
the  gentleman,  whose  name  was  Burwell,  chose  him 
and  took  him  home  with  him.  He  proved  to  be  the 
very  boy  he  wanted,  and  grew  into  favor.  Part  of 
the  time  he  was  sent  to  school  and  learned  rapidly, 
and  in  a  few  years  was  taken  into  partnership,  and 
the  old  gentleman  gave  him  his  only  daughter  for  a 
wife.  Young  Maguire  was  a  good  man,  loved  and 
respected  by  all  who  knew  him,  but  at  times  he  was 
sad,  very  sad,  because  of  his  lost  sister.  Twice  he 
had  visited  Charleston  and  made  diligent  search,  but 
found  no  clue.  He  found  the  very  house  he  was  born 
in  and  where  his  parents  died,  but  new  people  lived 
in  it  and  the  neighbors  were  all  new.  An  old  negro 
woman  remembered  the  Maguires,  and  said  she 
washed  for  them,  but  that  was  all.  She  thought  that 
the  fever  "got  'em  all,"  she  said. 

I  said  that  young  Maguire  was  popular  with  the 
(2) 


18  BILL    ARP. 

people.  So  much  so  that  when  he  was  only  twenty- 
six  years  old  he  was  elected  State  Senator,  and  be 
came  well  acquainted  with  Daniel  Webster  and 
Rufus  Choate  and  Judge  Story. 

Now  you  know,  my  young  friends,  in  a  small  vil 
lage  like  Randolph  everybody  knew  all  about  every 
body,  and  could  tell  where  they  came  from.  And  so 
it  was  very  generally  known  that  Maguire  had  lost 
his  sister  and  had  not  a  relative  in  the  wide  world 
that  he  knew  of,  and  how  he  had  sought  for  her,  but 
in  vain,  and  why  it  was  that  at  times  he  seemed  so 
sad  and  distressed.  Well,  he  lived  in  a  beautiful 
home  in  Randolph,  and  right  across  the  street  lived 
his  most  intimate  friend  and  neighbor,  whose  name 
was  Wales.  Wales  knew  all  his  sorrows  and  could 
weep  over  them  too. 

But  what  of  little  Caroline,  "The  Flower  of  Dun 
blane,"  as  they  used  to  call  her  in  her  childhood— 
for  she  was  as  lovely  in  disposition  as  she  was  beau 
tiful.  She  had  to  tell  her  sad  story  in  tears  to  the 
good  matron— and  the  good  woman  cried  too,  and 
the  orphans  cried,  for  it  was  a  sadder  case,  if  pos 
sible,  than  any  of  theirs. 

But  Time  is  a  good  doctor,  and  after  a  few  days 
Caroline  became  interested  in  her  new  home,  and  her 
broken  heart  began  to  heal  and  went  out  in  love  to 
the  matrons  and  the  many  children  who  were  her 
companions.  She  had  been  there  about  two  years 
when  one  day  a  fine  lady  came  there  in  a  fine  car 
riage,  and  after  introducing  herself  to  the  matron, 
she  said  she  came  to  see  if  she  could  get  a  nice,  pretty 
orphan  girl  to  go  and  live  with  her  and  keep  her 
company.  That  she  lived  on  a  rice  plantation  in  Lib 
erty  county— that  her  children  had  grown  up  and 
married  and  moved  too  far  away,  and  that  her 


BILL    ARP.  19 

name  was  Goulding,  the  mother  of  Dr.  Goulding,  the 
Presbyterian  preacher,  and  the  grandmother  of 
Frank,  who  wrote  ' ;  The  Young  Marooners. ' '  It  was 
not  an  unusual  thing  for  good  people  to  come  and 
choose  a  child  and  take  her  away  and  adopt  her,  but 
it  was  always  a  sad  time  and  made  solemn  and  seri 
ous  impression  upon  them.  They  knew  that  one  of 
their  number  had  to  go,  and  that  they  would  see  her 
no  more,  perhaps  forever — which  one — which  one, 
they  wondered,  and  each  one  said,  "  maybe  it  will  be 
me,"  and  the  thought  alarmed  them.  They  were 
happy  where  they  were,  and  a  change  to  some  one 
they  did  not  know,  filled  their  hearts  with  fear. 
Well,  the  fine  lady  was  shown  to  the  large  reception 
room  where  the  children  had  to  gather  on  such  occas 
ions.  The  children  had  of  course  to  put  on  their  best 
garments,  which  were  all  uniform,  and  wash  their 
faces  and  brush  their  hair,  and  they  marched  in  and 
were  seated  on  the  benches  that  were  next  to  the 
walls  of  the  large  room.  Then  the  grand  lady  walked 
around  slowly  and  talked  to  every  one  she  fancied, 
and  said  kind,  pleasant  words  and  asked  them  many 
questions.  It  was  soon  noticed  that  every  time  she 
went  around  she  stopped  longer  with  little  Caroline 
than  any  other,  and  after  the  third  round  she  turned 
to  the  matron  and  said,  "I  will  take  this  one."  The 
little  girl  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf.  Her  heart 
beat  rapidly,  and  tears  filled  her  eyes.  With  the 
other  girls  the  agony  was  over,  but  they  grieved  that 
Caroline  was  chosen,  for  they  loved  her  very  dearly. 
The  matron,  too,  was  sad  as  she  kissed  her  a  last 
goodbye— her  heart  was  too  full  to  speak  it.  It  was 
a  tearful  scene  as  the  orphans,  every  one  of  whom 
had  her  own  sad  experience,  marched  to  Caroline 
and  kissed  her  farewell. 


20  BILL   ARP. 

But  she  was  soon  in  the  fine  carriage  with  the  fine 
lady,  and  a  fine  team  of  horses  were  gaily  trotting 
down  the  avenue.  They  reached  the  lady's  home  that 
evening,  and  Caroline  found  everything  so  strange 
and  singular  that  for  a  time  she  forgot  the  change 
in  her  condition.  There  was  a  grand  old  mansion  in 
a  grove  of  evergreens.  All  along  the  way  she  had 
seen  the  beautiful  magnolias  and  caught  the  frag 
rance  of  the  yellow  jessamine,  and  now  she  inhaled 
the  sweet  odor  of  the  cape  jessamine  that  came  from 
a  long  row  that  bordered  the  carriage  way  and 
adorned  the  walks  near  the  house.  Not  far  away 
were  the  barns  and  rice  mills,  and  another  for  the 
sugar  cane,  and  still  further  off  were  long  lines  of 
negro  houses— all  just  alike  and  whitewashed,  ana 
each  with  a  garden  attached. 

But  alas!  not  a  white  child  was  to  be  seen  nor  a 
white  person,  save  Mrs.  Goulding  and  herself.  Scores 
of  little  negroes  were  playing  around  the  cabin 
yards,  and  they  came  near  and  looked  curiously  at 
the  little  white  girl  that  "Ole  Mistis"  had  brought 
home  with  her.  After  supper  Caroline  soon  grew 
tired  from  her  journey  and  was  put  to  bed,  where 
she  again  wet  the  pillows  with  her  tears,  but  soon 
dropped  to  sleep.  The  morning  was  bright  and  the 
country  air  was  balmy,  and  she  brightened  with  the 
day.  About  a  mile  away  there  lived  a  family  o$ 
Allstons,  who  had  recently  moved  from  South  Caro 
lina.  They  were  good  people,  and  closely  related  to 
the  family  of  William  Allston,  the  great  painter, 
who  married  Theodosia,  the  daughter  of  Aaron 
Burr,  and  who  was  drowned  at  sea  or  murdered  by 
pirates.  Her  sad  fate  is  still  unknown.  With  the 
children  of  this  Allston  family  Caroline  soon  got 
intimate,  and  Mr.  Allston,  when  on  a  visit  to  Charles- 


BILL    ARP.  21 

ton,  made  diligent  effort  to  find  some  clew  to  her  lost 
brother,  hut  found  none. 

Mrs.  Goulding  was  very  desirous  of  sending  Caro 
line  to  school,  but  there  was  none  near  enough.  And 
so  Mr.  Allston  went  to  Savannah  to  look  around  and 
if  possible  to  secure  a  teacher. 

Now,  children,  listen,  for  we  have  come  to  another 
branch  of  this  story.  About  the  year  1817  a  young 
man,  whose  name  was  Reid,  a  native  of  Vermont, 
was  teaching  school  in  a  little  town  in  Massachusetts. 
He  was  smart  and  energetic  and  saved  his  money. 
One  of  his  young  friends  told  him  one  day  that  the> 
could  charter  a  sloop  and  make  a  big  lot  of  money 
shipping  brick  to  Savannah.  Brick  were  cheap  in 
Newberryport  and  brought  a  high  price  in  Savan 
nah.  They  put  their  money  together,  bought  the 
cargo,  hired  four  sailors,  and  set  sail.  The  voyage 
was  prosperous  until  they  neared  the  port.  Then  a 
terrific  storm  came  up,  and  for  fear  of  losing  their 
vessels  and  their  lives,  they  had  to  throw  a  good 
part  of  the  cargo  into  the  sea.  They  had  barely 
enough  brick  left  to  sell  for  sufficient  money  to  pay 
off  the  sailors  and  send  the  sloop  back  to  its  owners. 
Young  Reid's  companion  got  discouraged  and 
homesick  and  went  back  with  it;  but  Reid  was  too 
game  a  young  man  to  go  back  without  a  dollar  in  his 
pocket.  So  he  hired  to  a  grocery  merchant  as  a  por 
ter,  and  did  his  work  so  well  and  faithfully  that  he 
soon  grew  into  favor  and  was  promoted  to  the  count 
ing  room.  It  was  about  this  time  that  Mr.  Allston 
visited  the  city  in  search  of  a  teacher,  and  it  so  hap 
pened  that  this  merchant  was  his  friend  and  factor. 
He  gave  Reid  a  very  high  character,  and  told  him 
he  was  a  good  scholar  and  had  taught  school  up 
North.  He  hated  to  give  him  up,  but  Reid  desired 


22  BILL    ARP. 

to  go,  and  he  was  soon  on  his  way  to  Liberty  county. 
A  good  school  was  made  up  for  him  at  once,  and 
Caroline  became  one  of  his  scholars.  In  that  day  the 
teachers  boarded  around  among  their  patrons,  stay 
ing  a  week  or  more  with  each  family;  and  so  Beid 
soon  learned  all  about  Caroline's  sad  history,  and 
his  tender  heart  went  out  in  sympathy  for  her.  She 
was  then  thirteen  years  old,  well  grown  for  her  age, 
and  was  lovely  in  form  and  feature.  She  was  mod 
est  in  behavior  and  at  times  seemed  sad  almost  to 
tears.  Beid  took  great  interest  in  her,  and  she  soon 
became  one  of  his  brightest  scholars. 

But  change  is  written  on  everything  in  this  world, 
and  so  it  happened  that  when  Caroline  became  four 
teen  years  old  and  had  a  right  under  the  law  to 
choose  her  own  guardian,  she  went  into  court  and 
choose  Mr.  Allston  and  became  an  inmate  of  his  fam 
ily.  She  was  so  lonely  with  the  old  lady,  and  besides 
the  old  lady  had  married  again— a  Mr.  Williamson 
— and  they  did  not  live  harmoniously  together,  and 
each  contended  for  the  guardianship  of  Caroline. 
It  was  young  Beid,  however,  who  took  Caroline  into 
his  confidence  and  advised  her  to  choose  Mr.  Allston. 
About  this  time  the  State  of  Georgia  bought  from 
the  Creek  Indians  all  their  land  in  the  up  country 
and  had  them  surveyed  and  opened  up  to  settlers. 
Then  there  began  a  great  exodus  of  low  country 
people  up  to  the  new  purchase,  where  mountains  and 
valleys  and  fast  flowing  streams  abounded.  Mr.  All 
ston  took  the  up-country  fever  and  prepared  his 
household  to  move.  He  did  move,  and  of  course 
Caroline  had  to  go  with  the  family.  She  bade  her 
teacher  goodbye  and  wept  upon  his  bosom.  He 
never  knew  till  then  how  much  he  loved  her.  At 
the  end  of  his  school  term  he  too  took  the  up-country 


BILL   ABP.  23 

fever,  but  finding  a  good  opening  at  Mt.  Vernon,  in 
Montgomery  county,  he  stopped  there  and  taught  for 
a  year  and  laid  up  a  little  more  money.  Mr.  Allston 
had  settled  on  a  creek,  a  few  miles  east  from  Decatur, 
and  was  engaged  in  building  log  houses  and  clearing 
land.  He  had  built  a  large  double  log  cabin,  with 
shed  rooms  attached,  and  had  moved  into  it.  He  con 
cluded  to  christen  the  new  home  with  a  frolic,  so  one 
bright  moonshiny  night  he  had  all  of  the  neighbors 
invited  to  come  over  and  have  music  and  perhaps  a 
country  dance.  But  Caroline  did  not  seem  to  enjoy 
it.  Most  of  the  time  she  sat  in  the  piazza  and  seemed 
anxious  and  melancholy.  A  spirit  whispered  to  her 
that  Reid  was  coming,  she  always  declared,  and  she 
could  not  get  rid  of  the  expectation.  And  sure 
enough,  about  nine  o'clock,  she  saw  a  man  riding 
slowly  up  the  road-way,  and  when  quite  near  he  dis 
mounted  and  hitched  his  horse.  She  did  not  wait 
for  him,  but  with  a  cry  of  joy,  rushed  out  to  meet 
him  and  threw  herself  gladly  into  his  arms.  Once 
again  she  had  found  her  best  friend. 

Now,  children,  we  must  skip  some,  for  this  story 
is  getting  too  long.  A  young  man  by  the  name  of 
Featherstone  had  married  Mr.  Allston 's  eldest 
daughter.  He  was  a  merchant,  and  was  living  in 
Lawrenceville,  about  twenty  miles  away.  Eeid  was 
expecting  to  make  up  a  school  in  that  little  town,  but 
Featherstone  persuaded  him  to  join  him  in  his  mer 
cantile  business,  for  it  had  outgrown  his  capital  and 
Reid's  money  was  just  what  was  wanted.  Some 
times  Mr.  Allston  or  some  of  his  family  came  to  Law 
renceville,  and  Caroline  came  with  them.  Some 
times  Reid  rode  out  there  Saturday  evening  and 
spent  the  Sabbath.  And  so  the  love  affair  pro 
gressed  smoothly,  and  when  Caroline  was  sweet  six- 


24  BILL   AEP. 

teen  they  were  married  at  Mr.  Featherstone's  house 
in  the  good  old  town  of  Lawrenceville.  When  Caro 
line  was  asked  why  she  married  so  young,  she  always 
said,  "Why,  I  didn't  dare  to  refuse.  He  was  my 
teacher,  and  I  was  taught  to  obey  him." 

Well,  now,  we  will  skip  over  some  more.  In  course 
of  time  two  children  were  born  to  them,  two  fine, 
handsome  boys,  and  Caroline  was  happy,  always 
happy,  except  at  times  when  the  image  of  her  lost 
brother  came  before  her.  Eeid  had  already  adver 
tised  for  him  in  all  of  the  Southern  papers  and  in 
New  York  and  Philadelphia.  One  day  when  he  came 
home  he  found  that  she  had  been  weeping,  and  he 
resolved  to  make  one  more  effort.  So  he  sent  an 
advertisement  to  a  Boston  paper  and  one  to  St.  Louis 
and  New  Orleans. 

Now,  let  us  go  back  to  the  little  town  of  Randolph 
and  see  what  Mr.  Wales  is  doing.  It  was  Sunday 
morning,  and  he  was  not  feeling  well  and  did  not  go 
to  church.  He  had  on  his  gown  and  slippers  and  cap 
and  had  laid  down  on  the  sofa  to  read  his  Boston 
paper.  That  advertisement  was  almost  the  first 
thing  that  caught  his  eye. 

"James  F.  Maguire,  whose  parents  died  of  yellow 
fever  in  Charleston  in  the  summer  of  1815,  and  who 
was  separated  from  his  only  sister,  Caroline,  during 
the  panic,  can  hear  from  her  by  addressing  the  un 
dersigned  at  Lawrenceville,  Georgia.  She  is  well 
and  happy." 

Wales  read  it  and  re-read  it,  and  suddenly  realiz 
ing  what  it  meant  rose  up,  and,  with  the  paper  in  his 
hand,  rushed  wildly  across  the  street  to  Maguire  *s 
house.  Nobody  was  there.  They  had  all  gone  to 
church,  which  was  only  two  blocks  away.  Wales  did 
not  stop,  but  hurried  up  the  street  and  into  the  side 


BILL   AKP.  v  25 

door  of  the  church,  which  was  near  the  Maguire  pew. 
The  minister  had  begun  to  read  the  hymn  but  Wales 
never  stopped  nor  considered  his  apparel,  but  cried 
out  in  a  delirium  of  joy,  "  Maguire,  IVe  found  your 
sister.  Thank  God  I  have.  Here  she  is  sure,  and  is 
alive  and  well.  Thank  the  good  Lord  for  his  mer 
cies,  ' '  and  being  overcome  with  his  own  emotions  he 
sat  down  and  wept.  The  minister  stopped,  of  course, 
and  came  down  to  hear  the  paper  read.  Half  the 
congregation  gathered  near  while  Maguire  read  the 
advertisement,  and  had  others  read  it  aloud.  He 
trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf  and  said,  ' '  That  is  Caro 
line  and  no  mistake.  Bless  the  Lord  for  his  goodness 
unto  me,"  and  he  knelt  down  in  silent  prayer  and 
sobbed  in  tears  of  joy,  for  tears  are  signs  of  joy  as 
well  as  grief. 

Enough  of  that.  You  young  people,  whose  hearts 
are  tender  and  full  of  emotions,  must  imagine  the 
rest,  and  you  will  be  more  ready  to  believe  that  when 
the  Lord  said  over  and  over  again  in  the  scriptures, 
"I  am  the  God  of  the  fatherless  and  the  widow,"  He 
meant  it. 

Now,  this  is  about  all  of  my  story  except  that  I 
have  failed  to  mention  that  Reid's  name  was  Asahel 
Reid  Smith.  He  was  my  father,  and  Caroline  was 
my  own  dear  mother.  I  was  seven  years  old  then, 
and  cannot  forget  the  delirious  joy  of  that  meeting 
after  a  separation  of  eighteen  years.  My  brother 
James  was  nine  years  old,  and  our  uncle  had  two 
boys  of  a  like  age  with  us.  For  years  the  brother 
and  sister  and  their  children  visited  and  re-visited 
each  other.  Their  eldest  son,  in  course  of  time, 
established  a  branch  of  his  father's  shoe  business  at 
Melbourne,  Australia.  The  last  letter  from  him 
said  that  he  had  married  a  sweet  English  lady  and 


26  BILL    AEP. 

thirty  thousand  sheep.  He  was  our  American  con 
sul  over  there  under  Pierce  and  Buchanan.  He  is 
dead.  Almost  everybody  is  dead  but  me. 


BILL   ARP.  27 


CHAPTER  II. 


MY  BIRTH,  YOUTH  AND  MANHOOD. 

And  now  a  brief  mention  of  my  wife  and  myself 
—my  birth  and  youth  and  manhood.  On  the  15th 
day  of  June,  1826,  half  a  million  children  were  born 
into  the  world  and  I  was  one  of  them.  In  the  pleas 
ant  village  of  Lawrenceville,  Gwinnett  county,  Geor 
gia,  I  first  saw  the  light.  My  infancy  was  not  unlike 
that  of  other  children,  except  that  sometimes  I  had 
little  fits  of  passion  and  threw  myself  upon  the  floor 
or  bumped  my  head  against  the  wall,  at  which  my 
mother  smiled  and  sometimes  said  I  couldn't  help  it, 
for  it  was  South  Carolina  fighting  Massachusetts. 
My  childhood  was  happy,  and  so  were  my  school 
days.  I  still  have  fond  recollections  of  my  teachers. 
Miss  Cooley,  an  aunt  of  Mrs.  George  Hillyer's,  was 
the  first  one.  She  was  good  and  kind  to  us  all.  Then 
came  Dr.  Wilson  and  Mr.  Sayre,  John  Norton  and 
Dr.  Patterson  and  Mr.  McAlpin  in  succession.  I  was 
a  mischievous  lad,  and  Mr.  Norton  whipped  me  occas 
ionally — not  hard  but  lightly — once  he  whipped  me 
on  my  boil  and  bursted  it,  and  nearly  broke  my  moth 
er 's  heart,  but  it  was  good  for  the  boil.  My  teach 
ers  are  all  dead.  A  few  years  ago  old  Father  Sayre 
called  to  see  me  in  Chester,  S.  C.,  and  as  he  grasped 
my  hand  said,  "Yes,  you  went  to  school  to  me,  and 
I  never  whipped  you  but  once.  Perhaps  if  I  had 
whipped  you  more  you  would  have  made  a  better 
man— but  I  am  proud  of  you,  my  boy.  Yes,  I  am 
proud  of  you." 


28  BILL    ARP. 

In  course  of  time  I  was  sent  to  the  manual  labor 
institute,  two  miles  away,  where  I  mingled  with  the 
boys  of  the  best  families  of  the  State.  The  Gould- 
ings,  Holts,  Hoyles,  Allans,  Alexanders,  Lintons  and 
Crawfords  and  others.  They  are  all  dead  but  two 
that  I  know  of.  My  father  was  a  merchant,  and 
when  I  was  nearly  grown  he  gave  me  a  clerk 's  place 
in  his  store,  and  I  sold  goods  for  two  or  three  years. 
About  this  time  of  course  I  fell  in  love,  and  dressed 
better  and  brushed  my  hair  with  a  cowlick  touch 
and  wore  boots  and  smiled  sweetly  on  my  sweet 
hearts  as  they  passed.  When  I  was  nineteen  I  was 
sent  to  college  at  Athens,  and  found  a  new  sweet 
heart  there.  She  played  and  toyed  with  me  while 
she  was  secretly  engaged  to  another  fellow.  "When 
I  was  senior  my  father  was  taken  seriously  ill,  and 
called  me  home  to  take  charge  of  his  business.  So 
I  went  to  selling  goods  again.  In  the  meantime  a 
pretty,  hazel-eyed  lassie  I  had  only  known  as  a  child 
had  grown  out  of  her  pantalets  and  into  long  dresses, 
and  was  casting  sly  glances  at  the  boys  about  town. 
I  imagined  she  cast  some  at  me,  for  she  liked  to 
trade  at  my  store  and  was  in  no  hurry  to  go,  and 
was  pleased  to  buy  what  I  advised  her  and  never 
asked  the  price.  She  was  a  bashful  brunette,  with 
hair  as  black  as  that  of  Pocahontas,  and  it  is  yet, 
and  her  name  was  Mary  Octavia,  the  eldest  daughter 
of  Judge  Hutchins.  Of  course  it  didn't  take  me  long 
to  fall  desperately  in  love,  nor  did  it  take  a  long  siege 
for  me  to  take  that  fort,  for  I  was  a  right  handsome 
youth  myself,  and  was  smart  and  doing  well.  What 
better  does  a  pretty  girl  want?  Yes,  I  found  that 
pearl,  and  did  not  throw  it  away  like  Othello.  IVe 
got  it  yet.  From  the  beginning  I  knew  that  she  loved 
me,  and  I  never  had  to  plead  or  get  on  my  knees— 


BILL    ARP.  29 

nor  did  I  ever  ask  her  to  have  me,  but  one  moon 
light  night  as  we  were  walking  I  said,  "Octavia, 
when  shall  we  get  married  ? ' 9  and,  as  she  pressed  my 
hand,  she  whispered,  "Whenever  you  think  best." 
It  was  like  the  murmur  of  a  dream,  but  I  heard  it. 
Now  she  will  deny  all  this,  but  nevertheless  it  is  the 
truth,  and  so  within  three  months  we  were  wedded. 
I  knew  very  well  that  with  her  parents  I  was  an 
acceptable  lover,  for  my  mother  had  found  it  out 
from  her  mother,  and  everything  was  calm  and 
serene.  She  was  sweet  sixteen  and  I  was  twenty-one. 
I  took  her  young,  thinking  I  could  train  her  to  suit 
my  notion,  but  she  soon  trained  me  to  suit  her's. 

Now,  my  young  friends,  that  was  nearly  fifty-four 
years  ago.  I  was  one  of  ten  children;  my  wife  was 
one  of  ten.  We  have  ten  all  living,  and  they  have 
just  twenty,  and  just  keep  on  multiplying  and  re 
plenishing  according  to  scripture.  My  brothers  are 
dead.  I  have  three  sisters  living,  who  are  very  dear 
to  me.  Well,  I  built  a  little  cottage  in  a  pretty  grove 
and  we  moved  there.  Judge  Hutchins  had  a  large 
plantation  on  the  river,  and  over  a  hundred  slaves. 
He  did  not  offer  us  any  money,  for  he  knew  we  did 
not  need  it,  but  sent  up  two  of  the  favorite  family 
servants,  and  Tip,  the  same  faithful  Tip  of  whom 
I  have  written,  was  one  of  them.  They  begged  old 
master  to  give  them  to  "Miss  Tavy,"  and  he  did  so. 
A  few  months  after  our  marriage  Judge  Hutchins 
insisted  that  I  should  study  law,  for  he  needed  a 
young  man  *s  help  in  his  office.  So  I  placed  my  mer 
cantile  interests  in  other  hands  and  began  to  peruse 
Blackstone.  In  two  or  three  months  I  was  admitted 
to  the  bar  on  promise  of  continuing  my  studies, 
which  promise  I  kept,  and  in  due  time  began  to  ride 
the  circuit  at  the  tail  of  the  procession.  And  what 


30  BILL    ARP. 

a  procession  it  was!  Judge  Junius  Hillyer,  Judge 
Jackson,  the  Doughertys,  Hope  Hull,  Howell  Cobb 
and  his  brother,  Tom  Cobb,  Cincinnatus  Peeples, 
Basil  Overby,  and  meeting  occasionally  Robert 
Tombs  and  Alex  Stephens.  All  great  lawyers  and 
eloquent,  both  in  the  forum  and  on  the  platform. 
They  are  all  dead,  and  I,  only  I,  am  left.  Then  there 
were  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court,  Lumpkin, 
Warner  and  Nisbet,  whom  I  well  knew,  for  somehow 
all  of  these  noble  men  made  a  pet  of  me,  and  from 
them  I  drew  inspiration  and  knowledge. 

In  1851  I  took  the  Western  fever,  and  moved  to 
Rome  to  grow  up  with  the  town  and  the  country. 
I  was  soon  associated  with  Judge  Underwood  in  the 
practice  of  law,  and  for  thirteen  years  we  were  as 
intimate  as  brothers.  The  war  came  and  we  parted. 
After  the  war  I  became  associated  with  Judge  Joel 
Branham,  another  most  delightful  partnership, 
which  was  only  severed  by  his  elevation  to  the 
bench. 

And  now  in  my  old  age  I  cannot  say  as  Jacob  said 
to  Pharaoh, t  i  Few  and  evil  have  been  the  days  of  the 
years  of  my  pilgrimage. "  We  have  had  more  than 
our  share  of  blessings.  We  have  been  blessed  with 
health  and  the  comforts  of  life.  Of  course  the  war 
made  an  inroad  upon  our  peace  and  happiness  for  a 
time,  but  the  good  Lord  preserved  us  and  we  suf 
fered  no  dire  calamity  or  affliction.  My  motto  is  that 
of  the  Latin  poet,  "Carpe  diem,"  enjoy  the  day, 
enjoy  every  day  as  far  as  possible. 

We  have  been  blessed  in  our  children,  for  they 
have  been  good  to  us.  Our  boys  are  all  in  good  form 
and  feature— not  a  single  deformity  to  mar  their 
manhood.  Our  girls  are  modest  and  well  favored. 
Not  a  Leah  among  them— all  are  Eachels— all  are 


BILL    ABP.  31 

frugal  and  industrious,  and  love  their  paternal  home. 
It  is  their  Mecca,  and  will  be  until  we  die. 

For  twenty-seven  years  we  lived  in  Rome  and 
prospered.  Then  we  retired  to  a  beautiful  little 
farm  near  Cartersville,  where  there  were  springs 
and  branches,  a  meadow  and  a  creek  near  by,  with  a 
cane-brake  border.  Not  far  away  was  a  mill  and  a 
pond,  and  there  was  a  mountain  in  the  back-ground 
where  small  game  abounded.  There  we  raised  Jer 
sey  cows  and  colts  and  sheep  and  chickens  and  pea 
fowls,  and  lived  well  by  day  and  feasted  on  music 
by  night,  for  every  member  of  the  family  is  a 
musician,  which  art  they  inherited  from  their  moth 
er.  It  was  a  lovely  home,  and  all  the  younger  chil 
dren  grew  up  there  to  manhood  and  womanhood,  and 
were  happy.  Their  schooling  was  not  neglected, 
though  I  could  not  send  but  one  boy  and  one  girl  to 
college.  It  was  on  the  farm  that  the  boys  learned 
what  a  dollar  was  worth  when  they  earned  it. 

But  by  and  by  and  one  by  one  the  boys  left  us 
for  other  avocations,  and  five  of  the  six  now  live  in 
five  different  States  from  New  York  to  Mexico.  As 
I  had  to  be  away  a  good  portion  of  my  time,  my  wife 
and  daughters  were  left  without  a  protector,  so  I 
moved  to  this  town  of  Cartersville  and  bought  this 
pleasant  home,  which  we  call  "The  Shadows,"  be 
cause  it  is  embowered  by  the  shade  of  many  beauti 
ful  trees.  This  is  all.  We  are  still  in  the  land  of  the 
living,  where  mercy  may  be  sought  and  pardon 
found.  A 

Enough  of  this.  It  savors  of  self-conceit  and  van 
ity  to  write  so  much  about  myself,  and  I  feel  that 
what  I  am  or  what  I  have  done  should  be  told  by 
another.  But  what  is  writ  is  writ. 


32  BILL   AEP. 

NOTE. — Some  of  "Bill  Arp  V  friends  wish  that  he  had  been  less 
modest,  diffident  and  unassuming,  it  being  a  favorite  contention  that 
with  the  assurance,  self -laudation  and  pretentious  aggressiveness  of 
the  times,  supported  by  his  profound  knowledge  and  philosophic  tem 
perament,  he  could  have  attained  high  political  honors  or  achieved 
the  loftiest  eminence  in  our  judiciary.  Others  who  love  him  better 
prefer  him  as  he  was  and  is.  He  could  not  be  as  he  is  if  he  had  not 
been  as  he  was.  The  " Cherokee  Philosopher"  is  dearer  to  us  than 
would  be  the  Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court,  or  ' '  governor, ' '  or 
' '  senator, "  or  "  Mr.  President. ' '  We  love  him  for  the  offices  he  has 
avoided,  the  political  entanglements  he  has  escaped.  While  there  are 
millions  struggling  for  political  office,  from  a  doorkeepership  in  a 
police  court  to  the  Presidency,  "Bill  Arp"  stands  alone  in  the  dig 
nity  of  a  personal  office  to  which  he  has  been  elected  by  a  universal 
suffrage  of  hearts  touched  and  mellowed  by  a  physical  sympathy 
wholly  unknown  in  the  field  of  political  stress  and  strain.  He  is  the 
elect  of  a  people  who  could  see  no  other  possible  candidate  for  the 
place  he  fills.  He  is  neither  soiled  nor  spoiled,  except  by  the  little 
tenderness  of  legions  who  seek  opportunity  to  show  a  sort  of  filial 
reverence  for  the  patriarch.  Mrs.  Arp  knows  his  faults,  chief  of 
which  is  that  he  likes  to  be  petted.  The  introduction  he  received  at 
Tupelo,  Miss.,  most  tenderly  expresses  his  relation  to  the  Southern 
people.  The  speaker  said  in  conclusion,  t(I  cannot  say  that  Bill  Arp 
is  the  greatest  man  nor  the  best  man,  nor  the  most  eloquent  man,  but 
I  can  truthfully  say  that  he  is  the  best  loved  man  in  all  the  South 
land." 

V.  S. 


MRS.    C.     H.     SMITH. 


BILL    ABP.  33 


CHAPTER  III. 


BEHIND  THE  SCENES. 

"All  the  world's  a  stage,  and  all  the  men  and  women  merely 
players. ' ' 

The  civil  war  was  a  play,  a  thrilling  tragedy,  in 
which  great  armies  were  the  players  and  the  world 
the  witnesses.  But  in  every  play  there  are  perform 
ances  behind  the  scenes  that  the  footlights  do  not 
shine  upon  nor  the  audience  have  any  knowledge  of. 
There  are  prompters  and  properties,  dressing  and 
undressing,  false  hair  and  false  faces,  weapons  and 
banners,  and  machinery  for  thunder  and  lightning. 
There  is  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and  sometimes  subdued 
altercations,  jealousies  and  envyings.  Sometimes 
there  is  real  rivalry  and  real  love  transpiring  behind 
the  scenes  while  it  is  mimicked  and  played  in  front. 
The  acts  and  deeds  of  mankind  are  behind  the  scenes. 
The  greater  part  of  life— the  better  part  and  the 
worse— is  invisible  to  the  world.  Our  domestic  rela 
tions,  fireside  pleasures,  family  dissensions,  our  joys 
and  sorrows,  desires  and  ambitions,  yes,  our  secret 
thoughts  that  harbor  hate  or  cherish  love  are  all  be 
hind  the  scenes,  known  only  to  a  few  or  to  ourselves 
alone. 

I  propose  now  to  touch  briefly  upon  some  things 
that  were  behind  the  scenes  before  and  during  the 
civil  war— some  things  that  have  not  been  published 
arid  which  present  a  vivid  contrast  to  the  glory  of  a 

(3) 


34  BILL   ARP. 

soldier's  life.  These  are  war  times  and  it  is  well 
enough  to  exhibit  the  picture  to  the  young  men  of  the 
South  and  let  them  ponder  upon  it  and  draw  the  line 
between  a  war  of  patriotic  duty  and  one  of  conquest 
and  glory.  This  part  of  my  address  will  be  brief  and 
is  intended  chiefly  for  the  entertainment  of  the  veter 
ans  who  still  live,  for  you  know  that  while  the  capital 
stock  of  youth  is  hope,  that  of  age  is  memory. 

Early  in  the  year  1861,  when  secession  was  the 
great  and  vital  question  that  agitated  our  people,  a 
convention  was  called  to  decide  whether  Georgia 
would  follow  South  Carolina's  lead,  or  not.  All  of 
the  young  men,  nearly  all  of  the  women,  and  many 
of  the  old  men,  were  outspoken  for  secession,  even 
though  it  provoked  war.  There  was  a  party,  how 
ever,  with  Alexander  Stephens  as  a  leader,  who  pre 
ferred  co-operation  and  did  not  wish  Georgia  to  se 
cede  alone,  but  favored  a  convention  of  delegates 
from  all  the  Southern  States  and  let  them  all  go  out 
together  or  remain  in  the  Union.  This  party,  how 
ever,  was  too  feeble  to  stem  the  tide  of  resistance  to 
Northern  aggression,  and  so  the  delegates  from  every 
county  gathered  at  the  capital. 

There  was  a  Union  element  among  the  delegates. 
It  was  composed  of  old  men  who  had  property  and 
did  not  wish  it  imperiled  by  war,  and  there  were 
some  non-slaveholders,  who  were  not  in  sympathy 
with  the  slaveholders'  policy  or  alarmed  by  their 
fears. 

There  were  a  few  strong  men  who  were  for  the  old 
flag  and  the  Union  above  all  other  considerations. 
Of  this  class  Herschel  Johnson  was  the  leader.  He 
was  one  of  the  great  men  of  Georgia.  He  was  on  the 
ticket  for  Vice-President  when  Stephen  A.  Douglass 
ran  for  President.  He  was  a  man  of  sluggish,  pon- 


BILL   ABP.  35 

derous  mind,  not  easily  excited  by  ordinary  events, 
but  when  aroused  from  his  lethargy  by  some  vital 
issue  he  had  no  equal  in  Georgia.  He  was  called  the 
sleeping  Sampson,  and  his  political  foes  used  all  their 
arts  to  keep  him  asleep.  He  was  opposed  to  seces 
sion,  and  went  as  a  delegate  to  the  convention. 
Toombs  and  his  party  dreaded  him  and  feared  the 
power  of  his  eloquence.  "Old  Sampson  is  aroused,7' 
said  Toombs,  "and  the  boys  must  look  out."  John 
son  began  to  speak  just  before  twelve  and  was  fairly 
getting  under  way,  and  knocking  out  the  props  upon 
which  secession  leaned,  when  he  was  interrupted  by 
Albert  Lamar,  the  secretary  and  a  suggestion  made 
to  adjourn  for  dinner.  At  the  dining  wine  was 
served,  and  Johnson,  being  pressed  by  Lamar  and 
his  friends,  drank  too  freely.  He  lost  his  mental  bal 
ance  and  the  remainder  of  his  speech  fell  flat  and 
tame  and  unfinished.  After  his  death,  Lamar,  who 
was  editor  of  the  Macon  Telegraph,  wrote  up  the  un 
written  fraud  and  published  it,  boasting  how  he 
drugged  the  wine  at  the  dinner  table,  and  that  if  it 
had  not  been  done  the  old  lion  would  have  carried 
the  majority  of  the  delegates  with  him  as  easily  as 
a  tornado  carries  the  trees  in  its  track.  "But  for 
those  two  drinks,"  said  Lamar,  "Georgia  would  not 
have  seceded  and  there  would  have  been  no  war." 

Whether  this  be  true  or  not  true  is  of  no  great 
concern,  for  if  no  war  then  it  would  have  come 
later.  There  was  no  averting  it  as  long  as  the  negro 
was  here  in  slavery. 

And  so  Georgia  seceded  and  prepared  for  war, 
and  her  sister  States  followed  in  quick  succession. 
While  the  new  regiments  were  forming  the  State  was 
one  vast  recruiting  camp.  The  call  of  the  drum  re 
sounded  from  mountain  to  seaboard.  Men,  women 


36  BILL   ARP. 

and  children  participated  in  the  general  enthusiasm. 
Beautiful  banners  were  being  made  by  womanly  fin 
gers  and  presented  to  the  companions  with  womanly 
benedictions.  Why  is  it,  my  friend,  why  is  it,  that 
loving,  pitying,  tender-hearted  women,  who  will  not 
willingly  tread  upon  a  worm,  are  always  first  and 
foremost  in  urging  their  husbands,  brothers,  sons,  to 
battle  for  their  country  or  their  section?  It  is  a  fact 
that  but  for  the  smiles  of  mothers,  wives,  sisters  and 
sweethearts,  Georgia  would  never  have  sent 
100,000  soldiers  to  the  front.  I  did  not  visit  Vir 
ginia,  in  June,  1861,  with  any  intention  of  joining  the 
army,  but  I  did  join  while  there  and  knew  full  well 
that  my  wife  would  weep  but  still  be  proud  of  it. 
Her  five  brothers  were  already  there,  and  the  won 
der  of  it  is  that  she  was  not  there  herself,  playing  the 
role  of  Joan  of  Arc.  But  she  had  a  lively  time  of  it 
at  home  three  years  later  and  saw  enough  of  war,  for 
she  had  to  flee  from  the  foul  invader  with  five  little 
children  tagging  after  her.  She  paused  in  Atlanta, 
but  only  for  a  day— just  long  enough  to  catch  breath 
and  start  again.  Then  she  made  a  good,  long  run 
down  to  Tuskegee,  in  the  secluded  shades  of  Ala 
bama,  the  State  whose  beautiful  name  means  "here 
we  rest."  But  it  was  no  resting  place  for  her,  for 
Wilson's  raiders  were  on  the  wild  hunt  for  rebels 
and  refugees,  and  so  she  departed  those  coasts  with 
alacrity  and  sought  retreat  and  safety  at  her  fath 
er's  plantation  on  the  upper  Chattahoochee.  She 
left  almost  everything  behind  her  when  she  fled  from 
Eome  that  dark  and  dismal  night.  The  house  was 
full  of  furniture,  the  pantry  full  of  good  things,  the 
smoke-house  full  of  meat  and  lard  and  a  barrel  of 
home-made  soap.  I  believe  she  made  more  ado  about 
losing  that  soap  than  anything,  for  she  had  made  it 


BILL    AKP.  37 

in  the  dark  of  the  moon  and  stirred  it  from  left  to 
right  with  a  sassafras  paddle  while  it  was  boiling, 
But  in  her  wild  haste  she  forgot  some  things  that 
were  very  precious.  She  forgot  the  package  of  love 
letters  that  I  wrote  her  during  my  courtship,  in 
which  I  promised  many  things  that  she  declares  I 
have  ceased  to  perform  since  she  lost  them.  She 
forgot  the  letters  that  I  wrote  home  from  the  army, 
many  of  them  containing  graphic  descriptions  of  the 
battles  and  who  of  our  boys  were  killed  and  who 
were  wounded,  and  they  were  read  aloud  to  the 
people  from  her  front  door  as  soon  as  she  received 
them.  I  would  give  money  for  those  letters  now. 
She  forgot  her  album— her  maiden's  treasure,  in 
which  her  friends  and  lovers,  including  myself,  had 
written  tender  verses.  These  were  all  given  up  as 
lost,  but  in  December,  1884,  she  received  the  album, 
with  these  lines  inscribed  on  the  last  page : 

"FBANKLIN,  PA.,  Dec.  22d,  1884. 

"With  pleasure  I  return  this  book  to  its  rightful 
owner.  I  came  in  possession  of  it  while  marching 
through  Georgia  with  Sherman's  army.  I  became 
attached  to  it  for  the  sentiment  contained  in  the 
verses,  and  I  sent  it  to  a  lady  friend,  Miss  Downs, 
in  Sparta,  Ohio.  She  married  and  moved  away  and 
has  just  returned  the  book  to  me  after  twenty  years ' 
possession.  My  wish  is  that  the  rightful  owner  may 
preserve  its  pages  and  hand  it  down  to  posterity. 

"Bespectfully, 
"E.  A.  WILSON/' 

That  man  is  a  gentleman,  if  he  did  belong  to  Sher 
man's  army,  but  it  took  him  a  long  time  to  reform. 

Shortly  after  I  joined  the  army,  I  was  appointed 
brigade  commissary  on  the  staff  of  General  Bartow. 
I  had  no  military  forms  or  papers,  no  money  where- 


BILL    AKP. 

with  to  purchase  supplies,  and  I  had  not  yet  drawn 
or  issued  a  single  ration,  for  I  had  just  been  ap 
pointed.  I  was  green,  and  was  waiting  for  money 
and  advices  to  come  from  Richmond.  After  we  had 
crossed  the  Shenandoah  river,  General  Bartow  told 
me  to  ride  on  ahead  until  I  reached  Marshall,  a  small 
village,  and  there  procure  some  fresh  meat  and  some 
bacon  for  the  boys  to  cook  and  eat  when  they 
arrived.  "General,"  said  I,  timidly,  "how  will  I 
get  these  things?  I  have  no  money  to  buy  them 
with."  "My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "you  must  remem 
ber  that  this  is  war  and  everything  in  this  country 
owes  tribute  to  the  army.  Look  around  Marshall  for 
three  or  four  fat  cattle— everything  is  fat  up  here— 
buy  them  at  a  fair  price,  and  give  the  owner  a  receipt 
and  a  certificate  and  tell  him  to  bring  it  to  me  when 
I  get  there  and  I  will  approve  it  so  that  he  can  draw 
his  money  at  Eichmond.  Buy  some  good  bacon,  also, 
say  a  thousand  pounds.  The  boys  will  want  it  to 
cook  with  their  beef.  This  is  war,  I  tell  you." 

About  that  time  I  began  to  realize  what  war  was, 
and  that  the  civil  law  was  silent,  dead  or  sleeping, 
and  that  nobody  had  any  rights  save  the  generals 
and  their  officers. 

When  I  arrived  at  Marshall  I  found  a  farmer  un 
loading  corn,  and  he  had  the  finest,  fattest  yoke  of 
oxen  attached  to  his  wagon  that  I  ever  saw.  I 
stopped  and  saluted  him.  "Those  are  fine  steers," 
said  I,  "what  would  buy  them?"  "Well,  about  one 
hundred  dollars,  I  reckon,"  he  replied.  Then  I 
made  known  my  business,  and  soon  found  that  he 
would  not  sell,  nor  would  he  take  any  scrap  of  paper 
on  this  here  Southern  Confederacy,  as  he  called  it 
The  argument  was  soon  exhausted  and  time  was  pre 
cious.  By  this  time  some  butchers  from  the  First 


BILL    ARP.  39 

Kentucky  Regiment  had  arrived  and  were  ready  for 
work.  I  pointed  out  the  steers  to  them,  and  before 
the  farmer  could  say  Jack  Robinson  they  had  them 
unyoked  and  were  leading  them  to  the  branch. 
Amazement,  indignation,  anger,  took  it  by  turns  over 
his  features;  then  he  began  to  use  language— cuss 
words  and  expletives  in  abundance.  Suddenly  he 
swore  he'd  ruther  die  than  be  run  over  in  any  such 
way,  army  or  no  army.  Then  he  cried  and  wiped 
the  tears  away  with  his  coat  sleeve.  His  last  excla 
mation  was,  ' '  How  in  the  hell  am  I  to  get  my  wagon 
home?"  I  was  awfully  sorry  for  that  man.  My 
hope  is  that  he  got  his  pay  from  the  Federal  govern 
ment  after  the  war.  Well,  I  got  the  bacon  without 
any  trouble,  for  the  merchant  was  a  red-hot  rebel 
and  made  me  eat  dinner  with  him.  Those  great 
oxen  were  killed  and  butchered  and  cut  up  into 
small  mess  pieces  in  less  time  than  I  can  tell  about  it. 
Wood  was  hauled  up  and  camp  fires  built,  and  by 
dark  our  brigade  of  four  thousand  men  were  full  and 
had  tumbled  down  to  sleep. 

Well,  I  soon  learned  that  war  was  war,  and  in 
course  of  time  I  could  impress  provisions  with  but 
little  scruples  of  conscience.  One  time  I  impressed 
four  hundred  barrels  of  flour  from  a  Union  sympa 
thizer  in  Orange  county  who  had  a  merchant  mill 
and  was  waiting  to  sell  it  to  the  Yankees  for  green 
backs.  His  wife  was  a  genuine  rebel  woman  and 
treated  me  so  kindly  on  the  sly  that  I  gave  back  two 
hundred  barrels  of  it.  It  was  a  case  of  Nabel  and 
Abigail. 

Impressment  of  provisions  was  nothing  compared 
with  the  conscription  of  men  and  forcing  them  to 
fight  and  face  the  enemy,  willing  or  unwilling, 
whether  they  were  brave  men  or  cowards.  There 


40  BILL   AKP. 

was  the  case  of  Jacob  Wise,  a  rich  Jew  who  lived  in 
Rome  and  had  neither  wife  nor  children.  When  the 
conscription  officers  came  to  Borne  he  secreted  him 
self,  and  one  night  came  to  my  house  about  midnight 
in  tears.  Trembling,  he  said,  "  Major,  I  vas  porn  a 
coward ;  I  could  not  fight  a  lettle  poy  nor  a  von  arm 
seek  man.  My  legs  vill  turn  around  and  run  avay 
mid  me  efery  time.  I  vas  porn  shust  dot  vay,  and 
I  will  pay  big  money  if  you  vill  keep  me  out  of  his 
old  war.  Oh,  mine  Gott;  oh,  Abraham;  oh,  Isaac 
and  Yacup."  He  excited  my  sympathies  so  much 
that  I  undertook  to  befriend  him.  There  was  an  ex 
amining  board  then  sitting  in  the  town,  of  whom  Dr. 
Starr  of  Rome  was  the  chairman.  He  was  my  friend 
and  knew  Wise  well,  and  so  I  brought  Wise  over  to 
be  examined.  Wise  was  ready  to  swear  that  he  had 
consumption  and  rheumatism  and  epilepsy  and  apo 
plexy  and  Bright 's  disease  and  heart  disease  and  any 
other  disease ;  but  I  juggled  with  Starr  and  we  agreed 
that  Wise  should  pay  $5,000  to  the  county  fund  for 
the  support  of  poor  soldier 's  wives  and  children,  and 
be  discharged.  Wise  never  hesitated  a  moment.  Dr. 
Starr  filled  up  a  printed  blank  and  named  the  dis 
ease  for  which  he  was  discharged  in  these  Latin 
words:  "Non  controlus  shankus  in  combatibus"— 
can't  control  his  legs  in  battle.  When  we  returned 
home,  Wise  paid  the  money  over  to  the  county  treas 
urer  and  I  gave  him  the  certificate  of  discharge,  but 
never  explained  the  meaning  of  his  remarkable  dis 
ease. 

But  neither  victories  nor  defeats  are  to  be  com 
pared  to  the  horrors  of  battle,  the  things  that  are 
behind  the  scenes  and  are  never  published.  During 
the  seven  days'  fight  across  the  Chickahominy,  hun 
dreds  of  the  dead  were  hastily  buried  in  trenches, 


BILL   AEP.  41 

buried  head  to  foot  a  foot  or  so  under  the  surface, 
and  the  earljh  heaped  over  them ;  for  you  must  know, 
my  friends,  that  on  a  battlefield  there  are  neither 
shrouds  nor  graves,  nor  coffins  nor  mourners. 

Heavy  rains  came  on  and  softened  that  earth  to 
mud  and  when  a  few,  days  later,  our  wagons  had  to 
cross  that  field,  the  wheels  sank  to  the  hubs  when 
crossing  the  trenches  and  sometimes  a  leg,  sometimes 
an  arm,  and  sometimes  a  ghastly  skull  was  thrown 
up,  as  if  beseeching  for  mercy.  Another  graphic 
scene  I  witnessed  the  night  after  the  battle  of  Ma- 
nassas.  The  hospital  chosen  was  a  large  brick  build 
ing  near  the  battle-ground.  It  was  property  that  had 
been  vacated  under  military  orders.  But  the  sur 
geons'  operating  room  was  not  there.  It  was  in  a 
willow  glade,  not  far  away,  where  there  was  a  clear 
spring  branch  flowing  peacefully  along.  Dr.  Miller 
ordered  all  the  wounded  brought  there,  for  the  night 
was  beautiful  and  the  water  convenient.  All  night 
long  he  and  his  assistants  amputated  arms  and  legs, 
and  probed  for  balls,  and  used  bandages  and  splints 
and  other  appliances,  and  as  fast  as  one  man  was 
fixed  up  he  was  taken  away  and  the  doctor  said 
"Next!"  like  in  a  barber  shop.  But  there  was  no 
groaning.  The  boys  were  heroes  under  the  sur 
geon's  knife  as  well  as  on  the  battle-field.  I  remem 
ber  when  Jett  Howard,  of  Kingston,  limped  up  with 
out  assistance  and  the  doctor  said,  "What's  the  mat 
ter  with  you,  Jett?"  Jett  pointed  to  where  a  minie 
ball  had  penetrated  his  hip  and  said  he  could  feel  it 
on  the  other  side.  Quickly  the  doctor  thrust  a  probe 
into  the  wound,  and  as  quickly  drew  it  out,  and  turn 
ing  Jett  around,  and  sound  for  the  ball  under  the 
skin,  he  found  it.  With  his  knife  he  cut  an  opening 
and  thrusting  in  his  finger  pulled  out  the  ball  and 


42  BILL    ARP. 

gave  it  to  him.  "Here's  your  diploma,  Jett,"  he 
said.  "Next!"  Jet  limped  away  with  a  smile  and 
had  his  wound  dressed.  When  my  brother-in-law, 
Captain  Cooper,  was  brought  up  with  a  shattered 
leg,  his  knee  pan  crushed  and  his  bones  mangled,  the 
doctor  said,  "Fred,  this  leg  must  come  off  immedi 
ately,  ' '  and  he  reached  for  his  knife  and  saw.  l '  Stop, 
doctor, "  exclaimed  Fred,  "can't  you  save  my  leg?" 
'  *  No ;  it  is  impossible, ' '  said  he,  ' '  it  must  come  off,  I 
tell  you."  "Doctor,  is  there  a  possible  chance  for 
me  to  save  this  leg?"  "Perhaps,"  said  the  doctor, 
1 '  one  chance  in  a  hundred,  but  I  warn  you  now  that 
if  it  is  not  speedily  cut  off  you  will  be  a  dead  man 
in  two  weeks."  Captain  Cooper  was  full  of  nerve 
and  faith.  "Doctor,  I  will  take  that  chance,"  he 
said ;  and  the  doctor  said  ' '  Next ! ' '  Fred  was  taken 
to  the  hospital  that  night  and  died  in  two  weeks. 

Poor  Tom  King's  leg  was  broken,  and  while  it  was 
being  splinted  he  was  laughing  and  joking  like  a 
school  boy.  He  lost  only  sixty  days  from  the  ser 
vice  and  lived  only  to  die  at  Chickamauga. 

On  the  sixth  day  of  the  Chickahominy  fight,  when 
McClellan  was  in  full  retreat,  our  brigade  command 
er,  Tige  Anderson,  sent  me  down  the  river  to  Gen 
eral  Lee's  headquarters  for  some  instructions  about 
moving  the  brigade.  I  found  him  in  a  large  wall  tent 
with  many  officers  around  him.  This  tent  opened 
into  another  where  the  camp  tables  were  set  for  din 
ner  and  the  servant  bringing  it  in.  There  were  four 
or  five  large  camp  tables  joined  together,  and  as  I 
sat  upon  my  horse  awaiting  a  reply,  I  saw  a  man,  an 
officer,  whose  head  and  body  were  underneath  the 
right  hand  table  and  his  feet  out  upon  the  straw. 
His  slouched  hat  was  over  his  head  and  eyes,  his 
sword  was  unbuckled,  and  his  boots  were  on  and 


BILL    ARP.  43 

spurred.  His  Confederate  gray  clothes  seemed  faded 
and  worn.  My  curiosity  was  greatly  excited,  and 
when  the  adjutant  handed  me  the  instructions,  I  ven 
tured  to  point  to  the  sleeping  man  and  to  ask,  "  Who 
is  he  V '  "  That  is  Stonewall, ' '  he  said ;  "  he  has  had 
no  sleep  for  forty-eight  hours  and  fell  down  there 
exhausted.  General  Lee  would  not  suffer  him  to  be 
disturbed,  and  so  our  dinner  will  be  eaten  over  him 
and  in  silence. ' '  Eeverently  I  gazed  upon  him  for  a 
minute,  for  I  felt  almost  like  I  was  in  the  presence 
of  some  divinity.  What  a  scene  for  a  painter  was 
that— the  two  greatest  generals  of  the  army,  yes,  of 
the  age,  together;  one  asleep  upon  the  straw,  worn 
out  with  fatigue  and  excitement,  the  camp  tables  set 
above  him;  while  the  other,  with  his  staff,  dined  in 
silence  over  him  and  watched  his  needed  rest.  Both 
of  them  were  patriots  and  Christians,  and  both  of 
them  were  men  of  prayer. 

With  them  there  were  no  selfish  motives  behind 
the  scenes,  but  every  act  and  deed  and  thought  was 
for  God  and  their  country.  I  have  long  been  grate 
ful  that  I  witnessed  that  scene,  the  bivouac  of  a 
sleeping  hero,  and  I  love  to  recall  Palmer's  beauti 
ful  lines : 

"We  see  him  now — the  old  slouched  hat 

Cocked  over  his  eye  askew, 
The  shrewd,  dry  smile,  the  speech  so  pat, 

So  calm,  so  blunt,  so  true. 
The  blue  light  elder  knows  'em  well; 

Says  he,  "That's  Banks.     He's  fond  of  shell, 
Lord  save  his  soul.     Now  give  him — ,"  well, 

That's  Stonewall  Jackson's  way. 

Silence,  ground  arms,  kneel  all,  caps  off; 

Old  Blue  Light 's  going  to  pray. 
Strangle  the  fool  who  dares  to  scoff 

At  Stonewall  Jackson 's  way. 


44  BILL    ARP. 

He's  in  the  saddle;  now  fall  in, 
Steady,  the  whole  brigade; 
Hill 's  at  the  ford,  cut  off.    Let 's  win 
Him  out  with  ball  and  blade. 

Ah,  maiden,  wait,  and  watch  and  yearn 

For  news  of  Stonewall 's  band; 
Ah,  widow,  read  with  eyes  that  burn 

That  ring  upon  thy  hand. 
Ah,  wife,  sew  on,  pray  on,  hope  on, 

Thy  life  shall  not  be  all  forlorn; 
The  foe  had  better  ne  'er  been  born, 

That  gets  in  Stonewall 's  way. 

With  many  people  on  the  border  line,  their  loyalty 
rested  on  very  delicate  pivots.  Which  shall  I  work 
for,  pray  for,  or  fight  for,  was  a  serious  and  perplex 
ing  question.  Fathers  were  separated  from  sons,  and 
brothers  from  brothers.  Mrs.  Lincoln  was  a  Miss 
Todd,  of  Kentucky,  and  all  her  brothers  were  in  the 
Confederate  service.  I  knew  one  of  them  well,  for 
he  was  for  months  on  the  staff  of  our  corps  com 
mander.  He  was  of  no  force,  just  an  ornament,  and 
made  himself  disagreeable  by  his  abuse  of  Old  Abe, 
his  brother-in-law.  Mrs.  Grant  was  interviewed  last 
year  in  Saint  Augustine  and  said  her  sympathies 
were  with  the  South,  but  her  interest  was  with  her 
husband's  choice.  With  many  West  Pointers  there 
was  no  patriotic  emotion.  Fighting  was  their  profes 
sion,  and  position,  pay  and  promotion  their  coveted 
reward.  General  Geo.  C.  Thomas,  one  of  the  ablest 
Federal  generals,  was  a  class-mate  of  General  Joe 
Johnston,  and  like  him  was  a  Virginian  of  the  Vir 
ginians.  When  Johnston  was  made  a  major-general 
by  Mr.  Davis,  Thomas  sought  a  similar  position,  but 
was  told  the  places  were  all  filled  and  he  would  have 
to  wait.  He  did  not  wait,  but  was  soon  after  offered 
that  position  by  Mr.  Lincoln  and  accepted  it.  Gen- 


BILL   ARP.  *5 

eral  Johnston  told  me  of  this  at  my  house  in  '67  and 
was  greatly  mortified.  General  Grant  had  no  sym 
pathy  with  the  anti-slavery  feature  of  the  war,  for 
he  was  a  slave-holder  himself  and  hired  them  out  in 
St.  Louis  until  sometime  after  Mr.  Lincoln's  procla 
mation  of  freedom  to  the  slaves.  You  will  find  more 
about  this  in  Appleton's  Cyclopedia  of  American 
Biography,  wherein  is  published  a  letter  from  Gen 
eral  Grant 's  father,  in  which  he  says, ' t  My  son,  Ulys 
ses,  was  very  improvident  before  the  war  and  fre 
quently  applied  to  me  for  money.  In  the  fall  of 
1860  he  begged  me  to  lend  him  $500,  as  he  was  in 
pecuniary  distress.  I  wrote  to  him  that  I  could  not 
do  it,  and  I  thought  the  income  from  the  rent  of  his 
house  and  the  hire  of  his  negroes  ought  to  support 
him,  but  if  he  was  suffering  he  had  better  go  to  Ga 
lena  and  work  for  his  brother  in  the  tan-yard.  This 
he  did,  and  got  along  fairly  well  till  the  war  began 
and  he  got  a  good  position  in  the  army." 

What  a  blessed  thing  is  peace  and  law  and  order, 
for,  as  Ben  Franklin  said,  "  There  never  was  a  good 
war,  nor  a  bad  peace."  The  contest  was  too  unequal 
to  last  longer.  Seven  hundred  thousand  could  not 
cope  longer  with  two  million,  seven  hundred  thou 
sand.  There  were  many  blunders  on  both  sides,  and 
much  good  blood  was  wasted,  and  there  were  some 
pivotal  points  on  which  turned  tremendous  results 
on  the  side  of  the  South.  Prominent  among  them 
was  the  death  of  Albert  Sidney  Johnston  at  Shiloh, 
the  failure  of  Huger  to  come  in  time  and  cut  off  Mc- 
Clellan's  retreat  at  Malvern  Hill,  the  death  of  Stone 
wall  Jackson,  the  invasion  of  Pennsylvania,  and  the 
removal  of  General  Johnston  at  Atlanta.  But,  no 
doubt,  the  will  of  God  was  done.  Time  is  a  good  doc 
tor.  We  are  learning  to  know  each  other  better,  both 


46  BILL   ABP. 

North  and  South,  and  to  tolerate  each  other's  opin 
ions  and  prejudices.  All  that  is  now  necessary  to 
make  the  reconciliation  complete  is  for  the  North  to 
put  our  heroes  and  Confederate  widows  on  the  pen 
sion  rolls,  just  as  they  have  theirs.  Most  all  of  ours 
are  dead;  only  seventy  thousand  are  left  of  all  our 
army ;  but  there  are  a  million  pensioners  on  the  rolls 
up  North,  and  as  time  rolls  on  they  grow  more 
thicker,  more  denser— as  Cobe  would  say. 

' '  Time  cuts  down  all, 
Both  great  and  small, 

Except  a  pensioned  soldier; 
They  do  not  die, 
But  multiply 

As  fast  as  they  grow  older. " 

Now,  if  the  North  will  do  that,  and  apologize,  we  will 
be  calm  and  serene. 


BILL    ABP.  47 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  ARISTOCRACY  AND  THE  COMMON  PEOPLE. 

Before  the  civil  war  our  Southern  civilization  was 
divided  into  two  classes— the  aristocracy  and  the 
common  people.  The  aristocrats  were  generally 
slave-holders,  and  though  they  were  only  one-seventh 
of  the  voting  population,  they  dominated  the  other 
six-sevenths  politically,  socially,  and  financially.  And 
yet  there  was  no  friction.  The  common  people  were 
loyal  to  their  wealthy  and  educated  leaders.  They 
voted  for  them  and  fought  for  them.  They  elected 
them  to  our  highest  offices.  These  aristocrats  were 
our  governors,  judges,  and  members  of  Congress,  our 
civil  and  military  office-holders.  And  they  were  shin 
ing  lights  in  the  councils  of  the  nation.  The  common 
people  were  allowed  to  be  magistrates,  constables 
and  non-commissioned  officers  in  the  militia.  They 
served  on  the  petit  juries  and  worked  the  public 
roads.  Their  loyalty  to  the  aristocracy  was  beauti 
ful.  They  shouted  for  Toombs  and  Stephens,  and 
Colquitt  and  Cobb,  with  a  wild  hurrah,  and  when  the 
war  came  they  fought  for  their  principles  just  like 
our  forefathers  fought  who  resisted  a  tax  on  tea  when 
not  one  in  a  thousand  drank  it.  Out  of  a  company 
of  eighty-four  men  who  went  from  Murray  county, 
not  one  was  a  slave-holder.  The  aristocracy  was 
mainly  an  aristocracy  of  dominion.  This  kind  of 
aristocracy  brings  with  it  culture  and  pride  and  dig 
nity  of  bearing.  The  scriptures  always  mention  the 
number  of  servants  when  speaking  of  the  old  pat- 


48  BILL   ABP. 

riarchs'  consequence  in  the  land.  "I  am  a  man  hav 
ing  authority,"  said  the  Centurion.  "I  say  unto 
this  man,  go,  and  he  goeth,  and  to  another,  come,  and 
he  cometh. "  Dominion  is  the  pride  of  man- 
dominion  over  something.  A  negro  is  proud  if  he 
owns  a  "  possum "  dog.  A  poor  man  is  proud  if  he 
owns  a  horse  and  a  cow  and  some  razor-back  hogs. 
His  neighbor  is  proud  if  he  owns  a  good  horse  and  a 
top  buggy  and  some  bottom  land  and  can  take  the 
lead  in  his  country  church  or  his  county  politics.  The 
big  boy  loves  dominion  over  his  little  brother,  and 
the  father  takes  it  over  all— well,  not  always,  for 
there  are  some  wives  who  have  a  sweet  and  silent 
control  over  their  husbands;  I  speak  from  experi 
ence.  Bob  Toombs  once  remarked, ' i  That  the  domin 
ion  of  a  good  wife  over  her  husband  was  his  surest 
safeguard"  against  the  temptations  of  life.  Toombs 
was  a  very  great  and  noble  man,  and  the  most  beau 
tiful  trait  of  his  character  was  his  loyalty  and  devo 
tion  to  his  wife. 

But  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  glories  in  owning  men, 
and  it  makes  but  little  difference  whether  the  men 
are  their  dependents  or  their  slaves ;  the  glory  is  all 
the  same  if  they  have  got  them  in  their  power. 
Wealthy  corporations,  railroad  kings,  princely  plant 
ers,  have  dominion  over  their  employees  and  they 
control  them  at  their  pleasure.  It  is  not  a  dominion 
in  law,  but  it  is  almost  absolute  in  fact,  and  there  is 
nothing  wrong  about  it  when  it  is  humanely  exer 
cised  ;  indeed,  it  is  a  very  agreeable  relation  between 
the  poor  laborer  and  the  rich  employer.  An  humble, 
poor  man  loves  to  lean  upon  a  generous  landlord,  and 
the  landlord  is  proud  of  the  poor  man's  homage.  I 
asked  Bill  A.  once  how  he  was  going  to  vote,  and  he 
said  he  couldn't  tell  me  until  he  saw  Colonel  John- 


BILL    ARP.  49 

son.  But  the  dominion  of  the  old  aristocracy  of  the 
South  was  not  over  their  own  race.  It  was  over  an 
other,  and  it  gradually  grew  into  an  oligarchy  of 
slave-owners,  and  the  poorer  whites  were  kept  under 
the  ban.  There  was  a  line  of  social  caste  between 
them,  and  it  was  widening  into  a  gulf,  for  the  poor 
white  man  could  not  compete  with  slave  labor  any 
more  than  the  farmer  or  the  mechanic  can  now  com 
pete  with  convict  labor.  But,  at  the  same  time,  this 
kind  of  slave  aristocracy  gave  dignity  and  leisure  to 
the  rich,  and  Solomon  says:  "In  leisure  there  is 
wisdom ; ' '  and  so  these  men  became  our  law-makers 
and  jurists,  and  they  were  shining  lights  in  the  coun 
cils  of  the  nation.  But,  my  friends,  it  was  an  aristoc 
racy  that  was  exclusive,  and  it  overshadowed  the 
masses  of  the  people  like  a  broad  spreading  oak  over 
shadows  and  withers  the  undergrowth  beneath  it. 
The  results  of  the  war  wiped  out  this  distinction  be 
tween  the  aristocrat  and  the  common  people.  But 
there  are  still  left  two  classes— those  who  have  seen 
better  days,  and  those  who  haven't.  The  first  class 
used  to  ride  or  drive,  but  most  of  them  now  take  it 
afoot  or  stay  at  home.  Seventy-five  per  cent,  of  them 
are  descendants  of  old  Henry  Clay  Whigs.  Forty 
and  fifty  years  ago  they  were  the  patrons  of  high 
schools  and  colleges,  and  stocked  the  professions 
with  an  annual  crop  of  high-strung  graduates  who 
swore  by  Henry  Clay  and  Fillmore  and  Stephens 
and  Toombs  and  John  Bell  and  the  Code  of  Honor. 
They  were  proud  of  their  birth  and  lineage,  their 
wealth  and  culture ;  and  when  party  spirit  ran  high 
and  fierce  they  banded  together  against  the  preten 
sions  of  the  struggling  democracy.  When  I  was  a 
young  man,  a  Whig  girl  deemed  it  an  act  of  condes 
cension  to  go  to  a  party  with  a  Democrat  boy.  But 

(4) 


50  BILL   AKP. 

the  wear  and  tear  of  the  war,  the  loss  of  their  slaves, 
and  a  mortgage  or  two  to  lift,  broke  most  of  thes'e 
old  families  up,  though  it  didn't  break  down  their 
family  pride.  They  couldn't  stand  it  like  the  Demo 
crats  who  lived  in  log  cabins  and  wore  wool  hats  and 
copperas  breeches.  I  speak  with  freedom  of  the  old 
Georgia  democracy,  for  I  was  one  of  them.  The 
wealth  and  refinement  of  the  State  was,  in  the  main, 
centered  in  the  party  known  as  the  Old  Line  Whigs. 
Out  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  student  in  our  State 
University  at  Athens,  fifty-five  years  ago,  one  hun 
dred  and  thirty  of  them  were  the  sons  of  Whigs.  I 
felt  politically  lonesome  in  their  society,  and  was  just 
going  to  change  my  base  when  I  fell  in  love  with  a 
little  Whig  angel  who  was  flying  around.  This  hur 
ried  me  up,  and  I  was  just  about  to  go  over  to  the 
Wihg  party,  when  suddenly  that  party  came  over  to 
me.  I  don't  know  yet  whether  that  political  somer 
sault  lifted  me  up  or  pulled  the  little  angel  down- 
but  I  do  know  she  wouldn't  have  me,  and  at  last  I 
mated  with  a  Democratic  darling  who  had  either 
more  pity  or  less  discrimination.  She  took  me,  and 
she's  got  me  yet;  she  surrendered,  but  I  am  the  pris 
oner. 

So  I  did  not  marry  my  first  love,  but  Mrs.  Arp 
married  her 's— bless  her  heart— and  she  now  de 
clares  I  took  advantage  of  her  innocent  youth  and 
gave  her  no  chance  to  make  a  choice  among  lovers. 
That  is  so,  I  reckon,  for  I  was  in  a  powerful  hurry 
to  secure  the  prize,  and  pressed  my  suit  with  all  dili 
gence  for  fear  of  accidents.  Once  before  I  had  loved 
and  lost,  and  I  thought  it  would  have  killed  me ;  but 
it  didn't,  for  I  never  sprung  from  suicide  stock.  I 
had  loved  that  little  maid  of  Athens  amazingly.  I 
would  have  climbed  the  Chimborazo  mountains  and 


BILL   AKP.  51 

fought  a  tizer  for  her— a  small  tiger.  And  she  loved 
me,  I  know,  for  the  evening  before  I  left  for  my  dis 
tant  home  I  told  her  of  my  love  and  devotion,  my 
adoration  and  aspiration  and  admiration  and  all 
other  "ations,"  and  the  palpitating  lace  on  her  bos 
om  told  me  how  fast  her  heart  was  beating,  and  I 
gently  took  her  soft  hand  in  mine  and  drew  her  head 
upon  my  manly  shoulder  and  kissed  her.  Delicious 
feast— delightful  memory.  It  lasted  me  a  year,  I 
know,  and  hasn't  entirely  faded  yet.  I  never  mention 
it  at  home— no  never ;  but  I  think  of  it  sometimes  on 
the  sly— yes,  on  the  sly.  Before  I  left  her  for  my  dis 
tant  home  she  promised  to  consider  my  love  and 
write  to  me— but  she  never  wrote.  She  is  consider 
ing  it  yet,  I  reckon.  In  a  year  or  so  she  married 
another  college  boy  and  was  happy,  and  not  long 
after  I  married  Mrs.  Arp,  and  was  happy,  too.  So 
it  is  all  right  and  no  loss  on  our  side. 

I  still  love  to  ruminate  about  those  delightful  days 
—the  memories  of  love's  young  dream.  And  why 
not  ?  Four  thousand  years  ago  Jacob  kissed  Eachel, 
and  Moses  made  a  record  of  it  in  the  sacred  volume, 
and  it  has  come  down  to  us  through  the  corridors  of 
time,  and  is  still  the  sweetest  part  of  the  story.  To 
be  mated  as  well  as  married  is  the  happiest  condition 
of  human  life.  What  a  beautiful  sight  it  is  to  see  a 
venerable  couple  with  loving  children  and  grandchil 
dren  around  them,  and  going  down  the  vale  like  John 
Anderson  my  Jo  John  and  his  loving  spouse.  It 
seems  to  me  that  marriage  in  those  days,  half  a  cen 
tury  ago,  were  more  serious  than  now.  I -will  not  say 
there  was  more  love,  but  I  know  there  were  less 
clothes  and  fewer  divorces  and  grass  widows.  The 
boys  married  the  girls  and  the  girls  married  the  boys. 
But  now  it  is  not  uncommon  to  see  our  old  widowers 


52  BILL   ARP. 

following  General  Longstreet's  example,  and  taking 
the  girls  for  wives.  It  is  not  according  to  nature  and 
is  dangerous  to  both,  especially  if  the  old  man  refuses 
to  die  in  a  reasonable  time  and  fails  to  leave  the 
blooming  widow  a  goodly  sum.  I  recall  now  a  beau 
tiful  Gwinnett  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  friend  of  ours. 
The  civil  war  wrecked  her  father's  fortune  and  he 
died  soon  after,  leaving  her  almost  penniless.  When 
she  was  twenty  years  old  she  wedded  a  rich  old  man 
of  fifty— an  invald,  whose  lease  on  life  seemed  short 
—and  he  settled  on  her  an  ample  fortune  to  be  hers 
at  his  death.  Now  she  is  fifty  years  old  and  he  is 
eighty,  and  keeps  living  on  and  on  and  on.  They  are 
childless,  and  live  on  a  farm  in  the  country,  and  she 
looks  almost  as  old  and  haggard  as  he  does.  Hers  is 
the  wreck  of  a  once  happy  and  hopeful  life. 

Now,  before  the  civil  war,  our  young  men  almost 
invariably  mated  with  our  young  girls,  and  our  wid 
owers  married  widows  as  a  general  rule,  unless  there 
was  a  Yankee  school  mistress  in  sight.  They  always 
married  Southern  widowers,  and  were  glad  to  get 
them.  Four  New  England  girls  went  off  that  way  in 
my  town,  and  they  made  good  wives  and  good  moth 
ers.  They  were  raised  to  habits  of  industry  and 
economy,  and  that  is  what  a  widower  wants  in  a  sec 
ond  wife.  They  take  good  care  of  his  first  crop  of 
children  and  get  them  educated  and  out  of  the  way 
by  the  time  the  second  crop  is  coming  on.  There  was 
no  economy  in  ante-bellum  days  among  the  aristoc 
racy  of  the  South.  It  wasn't  necessary.  The  little 
negroes  were  always  standing  around  waiting  for 
the  scraps,  either  of  food  or  clothing.  Whereas,  in 
New  England,  where  I  went  to  school  one  winter, 
they  didn't  even  keep  a  dog  or  a  cat  at  my  uncle's 
house,  and  the  rule  was  to  take  no  more  on  your  plate 


BILL    ARP.  53 

than  you  were  going  to  eat,  and  the  dishes  and  the 
plates  were  left  so  clean  after  meals  that  it  was  hard 
ly  necessary  to  wash  them — and  maybe  they  didn't. 
Most  of  these  families  are  poor,  but  they  are 
proud.  They  are  highly  respected  for  their  manners 
and  their  culture.  They  are  looked  upon  as  good 
stock  and  thoroughbred,  but  withdrawn  from  the 
turf.  Their  daughters  carry  a  high  head  and  a  flash 
ing  eye,  stand  up  square  on  their  pastern  joints,  and 
chafe  under  the  bits.  They  come  just  as  nigh  living 
as  they  used  to  as  possible.  They  dress  neatly  in 
plain  clothes,  wear  starched  collars  and  corsets,  and 
a  perfumed  handkerchief.  They  do  up  their  hair  in 
the  fashion,  take  Godey's  Lady's  Book  or  some 
body's  Bazaar.  If  they  are  able  to  hire  a  domestic, 
the  darkey  finds  out  in  two  minutes  that  free  niggers 
don 't  rank  any  higher  in  that  family  than  slaves  used 
to.  The  negroes  who  know  their  antecedents  have 
the  highest  respect  for  them,  and  will  say  Mas '  Wil 
liam  or  Miss  Julia  with  the  same  deference  as  in  for 
mer  years.  One  would  hardly  learn  from  their  gener 
al  deportment  that  they  cleaned  up  the  house,  made 
up  the  beds,  washed  the  dishes,  did  their  own  sewing 
and  gave  music  lessons— in  fact,  did  most  everything 
but  wash  the  family  clothes.  They  won't  do  that.  I 
have  known  them  to  milk  and  churn,  and  sweep  the 
back  yard,  and  scour  the  brass ;  but  I  've  never  seen 
one  of  them  bent  over  the  washtub  yet.  In  the  good 
old  times  their  rich  and  patriarchal  father  lived  like 
Abraham,  and  Jacob,  and  Job.  They  felt  like  they 
were  running  an  unlimited  monarchy  on  a  limited 
scale.  When  a  white  child  was  born  in  the  family  it 
was  ten  dollars  out  of  pocket ;  but  a  little  nigger  was 
a  hundred  dollars  in  and  got  fifty  dollars  a  year  bet 
ter  for  twenty  years  to  come. 


54  BILL   ABP. 

The  economy  of  the  old  plantation  was  the  econo 
my  of  waste.  Two  servants  to  one  white  person  was 
considered  moderate  and  reasonable.  In  a  family  of 
eight  or  ten— with  numerous  visitors  and  some  poor 
kin— there  was  generally  a  head  cook  and  her  assist 
ant,  a  chamberhaid,  a  seamstress,  a  maid  or  nurse 
for  every  daughter,  and  a  little  nig  for  every  son, 
whose  business  it  was  to  trot  around  after  him  and 
hunt  up  mischief.  Then  there  was  the  stableman  and 
carriage  driver,  and  the  gardener  and  the  dairy  wo 
man,  and  two  little  darkies  to  drive  up  the  cows  and 
keep  the  calves  off  while  the  milking  was  going  on. 
Besides  these,  there  were  generally  half  a  dozen  little 
chaps  crawling  around  or  picking  up  chips,  and  you 
could  hear  them  bawling  and  squalling  all  the  day 
long,  as  their  mothers  mauled  them  and  spanked 
them  for  something  or  nothing  with  equal  ferocity. 

But  the  good  old  plantation  times  are  gone— the 
times  when  these  old  family  servants  felt  an  affec 
tionate  abiding  interest  in  the  family ;  when  our  good 
mothers  nursed  their  sick  and  old,  helpless  ones,  and 
their  good  mothers  waited  so  kindly  upon  their  "mis- 
tis,"  as  they  called  her,  and  took  care  of  the  little 
children  by  day  and  by  night.  Our  old  black  mammy 
was  mighty  dear  to  us  children,  and  we  loved  her, 
for  she  was  always  doing  something  to  please  us  as 
she  screened  us  from  many  a  whipping.  It  would 
seem  an  unusual  wonder,  but  nevertheless  it  is  true, 
that  these  faithful  old  domestics  loved  their  master's 
children  better  than  their  own,  and  they  showed  it 
in  numberless  ways  without  any  hypocrisy.  We 
frolicked  with  their  children,  and  all  played  together 
by  day  and  hunted  together  by  night,  and  it  beat 
the  Arabian  Nights  to  go  to  the  old  darkey's  cabin  of 
a  winter  night  and  hear  him  tell  of  ghosts  and  witches 


BILL   ABP.  55 

and  jack-o' lanterns,  and  wildcats  and  graveyards, 
and  raw  head  and  bloody  bones,  and  we  would  listen 
with  faith  and  admiration  until  we  didn't  dare  to 
look  around,  and  wouldn't  have  gone  back  to  the  big 
house  alone  for  a  world  of  gold.  Bonaparte  said 
that  all  men  were  cowards  at  night,  but  I  reckon  it 
was  these  old  darkies  that  made  us  so,  and  we  have 
hardly  recovered  from  it  yet.  When  I  used  to  go  a- 
courting  I  had  to  pass  a  grave-yard  in  the  suburbs  of 
the  little  village,  and  it  was  a  test  of  my  devotion 
that  I  braved  its  terrors  on  the  darkest  night  and  set 
at  defiance  the  wandering  spirits  that  haunted  my 
path.  Mrs.  Arp  appreciated  it,  I  know,  for  she  would 
follow  me  to  the  door  when  I  left  and  anxiously  listen 
to  my  retiring  foot-steps ;  and  she  declares  to  this  day 
she  could  hear  me  running  up  that  hill  by  the  grave 
yard  like  a  fast  trotting  horse  on  a  shell  road.  The 
slaves  of  that  day  were  loyal  to  their  masters,  and  in 
the  main  were  happy  and  contented.  Of  course 
there  were  some  bad  negroes,  and  there  were  some 
bad  masters.  Alas  for  the  negro!  Before  the  war 
there  was  not  an  outrage  committed  by  them  from 
the  Potomac  to  the  Eio  Grande.  There  was  not 
a  chaingang  nor  a  convict  camp  in  all  the  South. 
Now,  there  are  five  thousand  in  the  chain-gangs  of 
Georgia  and  fifteen  thousand  more  in  the  Southern 
States.  There  would  be  fifty  thousand  if  the  laws 
were  enforced  for  minor  offences,  but  we  overlook 
them  out  of  pity. 

What  a  blessed  privilege  it  was  for  the  boys  of  our 
day  to  go  with  the  cotton  wagons  to  market,  and 
camp  out  at  night,  and  hear  the  trusty  old  wagoners 
tell  their  wonderful  adventures.  What  a  glorious 
time  when  we  got  home  again,  and  brought  sugar, 
and  coffee  and  molasses,  and  had  shoes  all  around 


56  BILL    AEP. 

for  white  and  black,  with  the  little  wooden  measures 
in  them  and  the  names  written  on  every  one.  And 
we  had  Christmas,  too,  for  white  folks  and  black 
folks ;  little  red  shawls,  and  head  handkerchiefs,  jack 
knives  and  jews-harps,  tobacco  and  pipes,  were  al 
ways  laid  up  for  the  family  servants. 

The  times  have  wonderfully  changed  since  then— 
some  things  for  better,  some  for  worse.  The  old 
aristocracy  is  passing  away.  Some  of  them  escaped 
the  general  wreck  that  followed  the  war  and  have 
illustrated  by  their  energy  and  liberality  the  doc 
trine  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest— but  their  name  is 
not  legion.  A  new  and  hardier  stock  has  come  to 
the  front — that  class  which  prior  to  the  war  was 
under  a  cloud,  and  are  now  seeing  their  better  days. 
The  pendulum  has  swung  to  the  other  side.  The  re 
sults  of  the  war  made  an  opening  for  them  and  de 
veloped  their  energies.  With  no  high  degree  of  cul 
ture  they  have  nevertheless  proved  equal  to  the 
struggle  up  the  rough  hill  of  life,  and  now 
play  an  important  part  in  running  the  fin 
ancial  machine.  Their  practical  energy  has 
been  followed  by  thrift.  They  have  proved 
to  be  our  best  farmers  and  most  prosperous 
merchants  and  mechanics.  They  now  constitute  the 
solid  men  of  the  State,  and  have  contributed  largely 
to  the  building  up  of  our  schools  and  churches,  our 
factories  and  railroads,  and  the  development  of  our 
mineral  resources.  They  are  shrewd  and  practical 
and  not  afraid  of  work.  The  two  little  ragged  broth 
ers  who  sold  peanuts  in  Rome  in  1860  are  now  her 
leading  merchants.  Two  young  men  who  then  clerked 
for  a  meagre  salary  are  now  among  the  merchant 
prices  of  Atlanta.  These  are  but  types  of  the  mod 
ern,  self-made  Southerner— a  class  who  form  a  most 


BILL   AKP.  57 

striking  contrast  to  the  stately  dignity  and  aristo 
cratic  repose  of  the  grand  old  patriarchs  and  states 
men  whose  beautiful  homes  adorned  the  hills  and 
groves  of  the  South  some  forty  years  ago. 

But  the  children  of  the  old  patricians  have  come 
down  some,  and  the  children  of  the  common  people 
have  come  up  some,  and  they  have  met  upon  a  com 
mon  plane  and  are  now  working  happily  together, 
both  in  social  and  business  life.  Spirit  and  blood 
have  united  with  energy  and  muscle,  and  it  makes  a 
splendid  team— the  best  all-round  team  the  South  has 
ever  had. 


58  BILL   ARP. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  ORIGINAL  "BILL  ARP." 

Some  time  in  the  spring  of  1861,  when  our  South 
ern  boys  were  hunting  for  a  fight,  and  felt  like  they 
could  whip  all  creation,  Mr.  Lincoln  issued  a  procla 
mation  ordering  us  all  to  disperse  and  retire  within 
thirty  days,  and  to  quit  cavorting  around  in  a  hos 
tile  and  belligerent  manner. 

I  remember  writing  an  answer  to  it  as  though  I 
was  a  good  Union  man  and  law-abiding  citizen,  and 
was  willing  to  disperse,  if  I  could ;  but  it  was  almost 
impossible,  for  the  boys  were  mighty  hot,  and  the  way 
we  made  up  our  military  companies  was  to  send  a 
man  down  the  lines  with  a  bucket  of  water  and 
sprinkle  the  boys,  as  he  came  to  'em,  and  if  a  feller 
sizzed  like  hot  iron  in  a  slack  trough,  we  took  him, 
and  if  he  didn't  sizz,  we  didn't  take  him;  but  still, 
nevertheless,  notwithstanding,  and  so  forth,  if  we 
could  possibly  disperse  in  thirty  days  we  would  do  so, 
but  I  thought  he  had  better  give  us  a  little  more  time, 
for  I  had  been  out  in  an  old  field  by  myself  and  tried 
to  disperse  myself  and  couldn't  do  it. 

I  thought  the  letter  was  right  smart,  and  decently 
sarcastic,  and  so  I  read  it  to  Dr.  Miller  and  Judge 
Underwood,  and  they  seemed  to  think  it  was  right 
smart,  too.  About  that  time  I  looked  around  and  saw 
Bill  Arp  standing  at  the  door  with  his  mouth  open 
and  a  merry  glisten  in  his  eye.  As  he  came  forward, 
says  he  to  me:  "Squire,  are  you  gwine  to  print 
that?" 


BILL    ARP.  59 

1 '  I  reckon  I  will  Bill, ' '  said  I.  l '  What  name  are  ye 
gwine  to  put  to  it?"  said  he.  "I  don't  know  yet," 
said  I;  "haven't  thought  about  a  name."  Then  he 
brightened  up  and  said :  ' '  Well,  'Squire,  I  wish  you 
would  put  mine,  for  them's  my  sentiments;"  and  I 
promised  him  that  I  would. 

So  I  did  not  rob  Bill  Arp  of  his  good  name,  but 
took  it  on  request,  and  now,  at  this  late  day,  when 
the  moss  has  covered  his  grave,  I  will  record  some 
pleasant  memories  of  a  man  whose  notoriety  was  not 
extensive,  but  who  filled  up  a  gap  that  was  open,  and 
who  brightened  up  the  flight  of  many  an  hour  in  the 
good  old  times,  say  from  forty  to  fifty  years  ago. 

He  was  a  small,  sinewy  man,  weighing  about  one 
hundred  and  thirty  pounds,  as  active  as  a  cat,  and  al 
ways  presenting  a  bright  and  cheerful  face.  He  had 
an  amiable  disposition,  a  generous  heart,  and  was  as 
brave  a  man  as  nature  ever  makes. 

He  was  an  humble  man  and  unlettered  in  books; 
never  went  to  school  but  a  month  or  two  in  his  life, 
and  could  neither  read  nor  write;  but  still  he  had 
more  than  his  share  of  common  sense ;  more  than  his 
share  of  good  mother  wit,  and  was  always  welcome 
when  he  came  about. 

Lawyers  and  doctors  and  editors,  and  such  gentle 
men  of  leisure  who  used  to,  in  the  olden  time,  sit 
around  and  chat  and  have  a  good  time,  always  said, 
"Come  in,  Bill,  and  take  a  seat;"  and  Bill  seemed 
grateful  for  the  compliment,  and  with  a  conscious 
humility  squatted  on  about  half  the  chair  and  waited 
for  questions.  The  bearing  of  the  man  was  one  of 
reverence  for  his  superiors  and  thankfulness  for 
their  notice. 

Bill  Arp  was  a  contented  man— contented  with  his 
humble  lot.  He  never  grumbled  or  complained  at 


60  BILL   AKP. 

anything ;  he  had  desires  and  ambition,  but  it  did  not 
trouble  him.  He  kept  a  ferry  for  a  wealthy  gentle 
man  who  lived  a  few  miles  above  town  on  the  Etowah 
river,  and  he  cultivated  a  small  portion  of  his  land ; 
but  the  ferry  was  not  of  much  consequence,  and  when 
Bin  could  slip  off  to  town  and  hear  the  lawyers  talk 
he  would  turn  over  the  boat  and  the  poles  to  his  wife 
or  his  children  and  go.  I  have  known  him  to  take  a 
back  seat  in  the  courthouse  for  a  day  at  a  time,  and 
with  face  all  greedy  for  entertainment  listen  to  the 
learned  speeches  of  the  lawyers  and  charge  of  the 
court,  and  go  home  happy  and  be  able  to  tell  to  his 
admiring  family  what  had  transpired.  He  had  the 
greatest  reverence  for  Colonel  Johnson,  his  land 
lord,  and  always  said  that  he  would  about  as  leave 
belong  to  him  as  to  be  free;  "for,"  said  he,  "Mrs. 
Johnson  throws  away  enough  old  clothes  and  sec 
ond-hand  vittels  to  support  my  children,  and  they  are 
always  nigh  enough  to  pick  'em  up. ' ' 

Bill  Arp  lived  in  Chulio  district ;  we  had  eleven  dis 
tricts  in  the  county,  and  they  had  all  such  names  as 
Pop-skull,  and  Blue-gizzard,  and  Wolf-skin,  and 
Shake-rag,  and  Wild-cat,  and  Possum-trot,  but  Bill 
lived  and  reigned  in  Chulio.  Every  district  had  its 
best  man  in  those  days,  and  Bill  was  the  best  man  in 
Chulio.  He  could  out-run,  out- jump,  out-swim,  out- 
rastle,  out-ride,  out-shoot  anybody,  and  was  so  far 
ahead  that  everybody  else  had  given  it  up,  and  Bill 
reigned  supreme.  He  put  on  no  airs  about  this,  and 
his  nabors  were  all  his  friends. 

But  there  was  another  district  adjoining,  and  it 
had  its  best  man,  too.  One  Ben  McGinnis  ruled  the 
boys  of  that  beat,  and  after  awhile  it  began  to  be 
whispered  around  that  Ben  wasn't  satisfied  with  his 
limited  territory,  but  would  like  to  have  a  small 


BILL    ARP.  61 

tackle  with  Bill  Arp.  Ben  was  a  pretentious  man. 
He  weighed  about  165  pounds,  and  was  considered  a 
regular  bruiser.  When  Ben  hit  a  man  he  meant  busi 
ness,  and  his  adversary  was  hurt— badly  hurt,  and 
Ben  was  glad  of  it.  But  when  Bill  Arp  hit  a  man  he 
was  sorry  for  him,  and  if  he  knocked  him  down  he 
would  rather  help  him  up  and  brush  the  dirt  off  his 
clothes  than  swell  around  in  triumph.  The  quicker 
a  man  whips  a  fight  the  less  of  it  he  has  to  do,  and 
both  Ben  and  Bill  had  settled  their  standing  most 
effectually.  Bill  was  satisfied  with  his  honors,  but 
Ben  was  not,  for  there  was  many  a  Eansy  Sniffle  who 
lived  along  the  line  between  the  districts,  and  carried 
news  from  the  one  to  the  other,  and  made  up  the  col 
oring,  and  soon  it  was  narrated  around  that  Ben  and 
Bill  had  to  meet  and  settle  it. 

The  court-grounds  of  that  day  consisted  of  a  little 
log  shanty  and  a  shelf.  The  shanty  had  a  dirt  floor 
and  a  puncheon  seat,  and  a  slab  for  the  'Squire's 
docket,  and  the  shelf  was  outside  for  the  whiskey. 

The  whiskey  was  kept  in  a  gallon  jug,  and  that  held 
just  about  enough  for  the  day's  business.  Most  every 
body  took  a  dram  in  those  days,  but  very  few  took 
too  much,  unless,  indeed,  a  dram  was  too  much.  Pis 
tols  were  unknown,  and  bowie-knives  and  brass* 
knuckles  and  sling-shots  and  all  other  devices  that 
gave  one  man  an  artful  advantage  over  another. 

When  Colonel  Johnson,  who  was  Bill  Arp's  land 
lord,  and  Major  Ayer  and  myself  got  to  Chulio,  Bill 
Arp  was  there,  and  was  pleasantly  howdying  with  his 
nabors,  when  suddenly  we  discovered  Ben  McGinnis 
arriving  upon  the  ground.  He  hitched  his  horse  to  a 
swinging  limb  and  dismounted  and  began  trampoos- 
ing  around,  and  every  little  crowd  he  got  to,  he  would 
lean  forward  in  an  insolent  manner  and  say,  "Any- 


62  BILL   AKP. 

body  here  got  anything  agin  Ben  McGinnis  ?  If  they 
have,  I  goll,  I'll  give  'em  five  dollars  to  hit  that;  I 
golly,  I  dare  anybody  to  hit  that,"  and  he  would 
point  to  his  forehead  with  an  air  of  insolent  defiance. 

Bill  Arp  was  standing  by  us  and  I  thought  he 
looked  a  little  more  serious  than  I  ever  had  seen  him. 
Frank  Ayer  says  to  him,  "Bill,  I  see  that  Ben  is 
coming  around  here  to  pick  a  fight  with  you,  and  I 
want  to  say  that  you  have  got  no  cause  of  quarrel 
with  him,  and  if  he  comes,  do  you  just  let  him  come 
and  go,  that'  all."  Colonel  Johnson  says,  "Bill,  he 
is  too  big  for  you,  and  your  own  beat  knows  you, 
and  you  haven't  done  anything  against  Ben,  and  so 
I  advise  you  to  let  him  pass;  do  you  hear  me?" 

By  this  time  Bill's  nervous  system  was  all  in  a 
quiver.  His  face  had  an  air  of  rigid  determination, 
and  he  replied  humbly,  but  firmly,  "  Colonel  John 
son,  I  love  you,  and  I  respect  you,  too;  but  if  Ben 
McGinnis  comes  up  here  outen  his  beat,  and  into  my 
beat,  and  me  not  having  done  nothing  agin  him,  and 
he  dares  me  to  hit  him,  I'm  going  to  hit  him,  if  it  is 
the  last  lick  I  ever  strike.  I'm  no  phlst  puppy  dog, 
sir,  that  he  should  come  out  of  his  deestrict  to  bully 
me." 

I've  seen  Bill  Arp  in  battle,  and  he  was  a  hero. 
I've  seen  him  when  shot  and  shell  rained  around  him, 
and  he  was  cool  and  calm,  and  the  same  old  smile 
was  upon  his  features,  but  I  never  saw  him  as  in 
tensely  excited  as  he  was  that  moment  when  Ben  Mc 
Ginnis  approached  us,  and,  addressing  himself  to 
Bill  Arp,  said,  "I  golly,  I  dare  anybody  to  hit  that." 

As  Ben  straightened  up,  Bill  let  fly  with  his  hard, 
bony  fist  right  in  his  left  eye,  and  followed  it  up  with 
another  so  quick  that  the  two  blows  seemed  as  one.  I 
don't  know  how  it  was,  and  never  will  know;  but  in 


BILL    ARP.  63 

less  than  a  second,  Bill  had  him  down  and  was  on 
him,  and  his  fists  and  his  elbows  and  his  knees 
seemed  all  at  work.  He  afterwards  said  that  his 
knees  worked  on  Ben's  bread  basket,  which  he  knew 
was  his  weakest  part.  Ben  hollered  "enough"  in 
due  time,  which  was  considered  honorable  to  do  when 
a  feller  had  enough,  and  Bill  helped  him  up  and 
brushed  the  dirt  off  his  clothes,  and  said,  "Now,  Ben, 
is  it  all  over  betwixt  us,  is  you  and  me  all  right?" 
And  Ben  said,  "It's  all  right  'twixt  you  and  me, 
Bill;  and  you  are  much  of  a  gentleman."  Bill  in 
vited  all  hands  up  to  the  shelf,  and  they  took  a  drink, 
and  he  and  Ben  were  friends. 

This  is  enough  of  Bill  Arp— the  original,  the  sim 
on-pure.  He  was  a  good  soldier  in  war.  He  was  the 
wit  and  the  wag  of  the  camp-fires,  and  made  a  home 
sick  youth  laugh  away  his  melancholy.  He  was  a 
good  citizen  in  peace.  When  told  that  his  son  was 
killed  he  looked  no  surprise,  but  simply  said: 
"Major,  did  he  die  all  right!"  When  assured  that 
he  did,  Bill  wiped  away  a  falling  tear  and  said,  "I 
only  wanted  to  tell  his  mother." 

You  may  talk  about  heroes  and  heroines;  I  have 
seen  all  sorts,  and  so  has  most  everybody  who  was 
in  the  war,  but  I  never  saw  a  more  devoted  heroine 
than  Bill  Arp's  wfe.  She  was  a  very  humble  woman, 
very,  and  she  loved  her  husband  with  a  love  that  was 
passing  strange.  I  have  seen  that  woman  in  town, 
three  miles  from  her  home,  hunting  around  by  night 
for  her  husband,  going  from  one  saloon  to  another, 
and  in  her  kind,  loving  voice  inquiring,  "is  William 
here?"  Blessings  on  that  poor  woman;  I  have  al 
most  cried  for  her  many  a  time.  Poor  William,  how 
she  loved  hm.  How  tenderly  would  she  take  him, 
when  she  found  him,  and  lead  him  home,  and  bathe 


64  BILL   ABP. 

his  head  and  put  him  to  bed.  She  always  looked 
pleased  and  thankful  when  asked  about  him,  and 
would  say,  "he  is  a  good  little  man,  but  you  know 
he  has  his  failings."  She  loved  Bill  and  he  loved 
her;  he  was  weak  and  she  was  strong.  There  are 
some  such  women  now,  I  reckon.  I  know  there  are 
some  such  men. 


BILL   AKP.  '65 


CHAPTEE  VI. 


" BIG  JOHN." 

"Big  John"  was  one  of  the  earliest  settlers  of 
Rome,  and  one  of  her  most  notable  men.  For  several 
years  he  was  known  by  his  proper  name  of  John 
Underwood;  but  when  another  John  Underwood 
moved  there,  the  old  settler  had  to  be  identified  by 
his  superior  size,  and  gradually  lost  his  surname,  and 
was  known  far  and  near  as  "Big  John."  The  new 
comer  was  a  man  of  large  frame,  weighing  about  225 
pounds,  but  Big  John  pulled  down  the  scales  at  a 
hundred  pounds  more.  He  had  shorter  arms  and 
shorter  legs,  but  his  circumference  was  correspond 
ingly  immense.  He  was  notable  for  his  humor  and 
his  good  humor.  The  best  town  jokes  came  from  his 
jolly,  fertile  fancy,  and  his  comments  on  men  and 
things  were  always  original,  and  as  terse  and  vigor 
ous  as  ever  came  from  the  brain  of  Dr.  Johnson.  He 
was  a  diamond  in  the  rough.  He  had  lived  a  pioneer 
among  the  Indians  of  Cherokee,  and  it  was  said  fell 
in  love  with  an  Indian  maid,  the  daughter  of  old  Tus- 
tenuggee,  a  limited  chief,  and  never  married  because 
he  could  not  marry  her.  But  if  his  disappointment 
preyed  upon  his  heart,  it  did  not  prey  long  upon  the 
region  that  enclosed  it,  for  he  continued  to  expand 
his  proportions.  He  was  a  good  talker  and  an  earn 
est  laugher — whether  he  laughed  and  grew  fat,  or 
grew  fat  and  laughed,  the  doctors  could  not  tell  which 
was  the  cause  and  which  was  effect,  and  it  is  still  i:n 

(5) 


66  BILL   AEP. 

doubt,  but  I  have  heard  wise  men  affirm  that  laugh 
ing  was  the  fat  man's  safety-valve,  that  if  he  did  not 
laugh  and  shake  and  vibrate  frequently,  he  would 
grow  fatter  and  fatter,  until  his  epidermic  cuticle 
could  not  contain  his  oleaginous  corporosity. 

Big  John  had  no  patience  with  the  war,  and  when 
he  looked  upon  the  boys  strutting  around  in  uni 
forms,  and  fixing  up  their  canteens  and  haversacks, 
he  seemed  as  much  astonished  as  disgusted.  He  sat  in 
his  big  chair  on  the  sidewalk,  and  would  remark,  "I 
don't  see  any  fun  in  the  like  of  that.  Somebody  is 
going  to  be  hurt,  and  fighting  don't  prove  anything. 
Some  of  our  best  people  in  this  town  are  kin  to  them 
fellers  up  North,  and  I  don't  see  any  sense  in  tearing 
up  families  by  a  fight. ' '  He  rarely  looked  serious  or 
solemn,  but  the  impending  strife  seemed  to  settle  him. 
"Boys,"  said  he,  "I  hope  to  God  this  thing  will  be 
fixed  up  without  a  fight,  for  fighting  is  a  mighty  bad 
business,  and  I  never  knowed  it  to  do  any  good. ' ' 

Big  John  had  had  a  little  war  experience— that  is, 
he  had  volunteered  in  a  company  to  assist  in  the  for 
cible  removal  of  the  Cherokees  to  the  far  west  in 
1835.  It  was  said  that  he  was  no  belligerent  then,  but 
wanted  to  see  that  the  maiden  he  loved  had  a  safe 
transit,  and  so  he  escorted  the  old  chief  and  his  clan 
as  far  as  Tuscumbia,  and  then  broke  down  and  re 
turned  to  Eoss  Landing  on  the  Tennessee  river.  He 
was  too  heavy  to  march,  and  when  he  arrived  at  the 
Landing,  a  prisoner  was  put  in  his  charge  for  safe 
keeping.  Eoss  Landing  is  Chattanooga  now, 
and  John  Eoss  lived  there,  and  was  one  of 
the  chiefs  of  the  Cherokees.  The  prisoner 
was  his  guest,  and  his  name  was  John  How 
ard  Payne.  He  was  suspected  of  trying  to  insti 
gate  the  Cherokees  to  revolt  and  fight,  and  not 


BILL   ABP.  67 

leave  their  beautiful  forest  homes  on  the  Tennessee 
and  Coosa  and  Oostanaula  and  the  Etowah,  or  New 
Town,  as  it  was  called,  an  Indian  settlement  on  the 
Coosawattee,  a  few  miles  east  of  Calhoun,  as  now 
known.  There  he  kept  the  author  of  "Home,  Sweet 
Home"  under  guard,  or  on  his  parol  of  honor,  for 
three  weeks,  and  listened  to  his  music  upon  the  violin, 
and  heard  him  sing  his  own  songs  until  orders  came 
for  his  discharge,  and  Payne  was  sent  under  escort 
to  Washington. 

Many  a  time  have  I  heard  Big  John  recite  his  sad 
adventures.  "It  was  a  most  distressive  business," 
said  he.  '  '  Them  Injuns  was  heart-broken ;  I  always 
knowed  an  Injun  loved  his  hunting-ground  and  his 
rivers,  but  I  never  knowed  how  much  they  loved  'em 
before.  You  know  they  killed  Eidge  for  consentin* 
to  the  treaty.  They  killed  him  on  the  march  and 
they  wouldn't  bury  him.  The  soldiers  had  to  stop 
and  dig  a  grave  and  put  him  away.  John  Boss  and 
John  Eidge  were  the  sons  of  two  Scotchmen,  who 
came  over  here  when  they  were  young  men  and 
mixed  up  with  these  tribes  and  got  their  good  will. 
These  two  boys  were  splendid  looking  men,  tall  and 
handsome,  with  long  auburn  hair,  and  they  were 
active  and  strong,  and  could  shoot  a  bow  equal  to  the 
best  bowman  of  the  tribe,  and  they  beat  'em  all  to 
pieces  on  the  cross-bow.  They  married  the  daugh 
ters  of  the  old  chiefs,  and  when  the  old  chiefs  died 
they  just  fell  into  line  and  succeeded  to  the  old 
chiefs'  places,  and  the  tribes  liked  'em  mighty  well 
for  they  were  good  men  and  made  good  chiefs.  Well, 
you  see  Eoss  dident  like  the  treaty.  He  said  it  wasent 
fair,  and  that  the  price  of  the  territory  was  too  low, 
and  the  fact  is  he  dident  want  to  go  at  all.  There  are 
the  ruins  of  his  old  home  now  over  there  in  DeSoto, 


68  BILL   ABP. 

close  to  Borne,  and  I  tell  you  lie  was  a  king.  His 
word  was  the  law  of  the  Injun  nations,  and  he  had 
their  love  and  their  respect.  His  half-hreed  children 
were  the  purtiest  things  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  Well, 
Eidge  lived  up  the  Oostanaula  river  about  a  mile, 
and  he  was  a  good  man,  too.  Boss  and  Bidge  always 
consulted  about  everything  for  the  good  of  the  tribes, 
but  Bidge  was  a  more  milder  man  than  Boss,  and 
was  more  easily  persuaded  to  sign  the  treaty  that 
gave  the  lands  to  the  State  and  take  other  lands 
away  across  the  Mississippi. 

"Well,  it  took  us  a  month  to  get  'em  all  together 
and  begin  the  march  to  the  Mississippi,  and  they 
wouldn't  march  then.  The  women  would  go  out  of 
line  and  set  down  in  the  woods  and  go  to  grieving, 
and  you  may  believe  it  or  not,  but  I'll  tell  you  what 
is  a  fact,  we  started  with  14,000,  and  4,000  of  'em 
died  before  we  got  to  Tuscumbia.  They  died  on  the 
side  of  the  road;  they  died  of  broken  hearts;  they 
died  of  starvation,  for  they  wouldn't  eat  a  thing; 
they  just  died  all  along  the  way.  We  didn't  make 
more  than  five  miles  a  day  on  the  march,  and  my 
company  didn't  do  much  but  dig  graves  and  bury 
Injuns  all  the  way  to  Tuscumbia.  They  died  of  grief 
and  broken  hearts,  and  no  mistake.  An  Indian's 
heart  is  tender  and  his  love  is  strong;  it's  his  nature. 
I'd  rather  risk  an  Injun  for  a  true  friend  than  a 
white  man.  He  is  the  best  friend  in  the  world,  and 
the  worst  enemy.  He  has  got  more  gratitude  and 
more  revenge  in  him  than  anybody." 

Big  John 's  special  comfort  was  a  circus.  He  never 
missed  one,  and  it  was  a  good  part  of  the  show  to 
see  him  laugh  and  shake  and  spread  his  magnificent 
face. 


BILL    ARP.  69 

He  took  no  pleasure  in  the  quarrels  of  mankind, 
and  never  backed  a  man  in  a  fight;  but  when  two 
dogs  locked  teeth,  or  two  bulls  locked  horns,  or  two 
game  chickens  locked  spurs,  he  always  liked  to  be 
about.  "It  is  their  nature  to  fight,"  said  he,  "and 
let  'em  fight."  He  took  delight  in  watching  dogs 
and  commenting  on  their  sense  and  dispositions.  He 
compared  them  to  the  men  about  town,  and  drew 
some  humorous  analogies.  '  '  There  is  Jimmy  Jones, ' ' 
said  he,  "who  ripped  and  splurged  around  because 
Georgia  wouldn't  secede  in  a  minute  and  a  half,  and 
he  swore  he  was  going  over  to  South  Carolina  to 
fight ;  and  when  Georgia  did  secede  shore  enough,  he 
didn't  join  the  army  at  all,  and  always  had  some 
cussed  excuse,  and  when  conscription  came  along, 
he  got  on  a  detail  to  make  potash,  con-ding  him,  and 
when  that  played  out  he  got  him  a  couple  of  track 
dogs  and  got  detailed  to  catch  runaway  prisoners. 
Just  so  I've  seen  dogs  run  up  and  down  the  palings 
like  they  was  dying  to  get  to  one  another,  and  so 
one  day  I  picked  up  my  dog  by  the  nape  of  the  neck 
and  dropped  him  over  on  the  outside.  I  never 
knowed  he  could  jump  that  fence  before,  but  he 
bounced  back  like  an  Indian  rubber  ball,  and  the 
other  dog  streaked  it  down  the  sidewalk  like  the 
dickens  was  after  him.  Dogs  are  like  folks,  and 
folks  are  like  dogs,  and  a  heap  of  'em  want  the  pal 
ings  between.  Jack  Bogin  used  to  strut  round  and 
whip  the  boys  in  his  beat,  and  kick  'em  around,  be 
cause  he  knew  he  could  do  it,  for  he  had  the  most 
muscle;  but  he  couldn't  look  a  brave  man  in  the  eye, 
muscle  or  no  muscle,  and  I've  seen  him  shut  up  quick 
when  he  met  one.  A  man  has  got  to  be  right  to  be 
brave,  and  I  had  rather  see  a  bully  get  a  licking  than 
to  eat  sugar." 


70  BILL   ARP. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE  ROMAN  RUNAGEE. 

ATLANTA,  GAV  May  22,  1864. 

ME.  EDITOR:  " Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy, 
slow, ' '  as  somebody  said,  I  am  seeking  a  log  in  some 
vast  wilderness,  a  lonely  roost  in  some  Okeefinokee 
swamp,  where  the  foul  invaders  cannot  travel  nor 
their  pontoon  bridges  float.  If  Mr.  Shakespeare  were 
correct  when  he  wrote  that  "  sweet  are  the  juices  of 
adversity, "  then  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  me 
and  my  folks,  and  many  others,  must  have  some 
sweetening  to  spare.  When  a  man  is  aroused  in  the 
dead  of  night,  and  smells  the  approach  of  the  foul 
invader ;  when  he  feels  constrained  to  change  his  base 
and  become  a  runagee  from  his  home,  leaving  behind 
him  all  those  ususary  things,  which  hold  body  and 
soul  together;  when  he  looks,  perhaps  the  last  time 
upon  his  lovely  home  where  he  has  been  for  many 
delightful  years  raising  children  and  chickens,  straw 
berries  and  peas,  lye  soap  and  onions,  and  all  such 
luxuries  of  this  sublunary  life;  when  he  imagines 
every  unusual  sound  to  be  the  crack  of  his  earthly 
doom;  when  from  such  influences  he  begins  a  digni 
fied  retreat,  but  soon  is  constrained  to  leave  the  dig 
nity  behind,  and  get  away,  without  regard  to  the 
order  of  his  going— if  there  is  any  sweet  juice  in  the 
like  of  that,  I  haven't  be^n  able  to  see  it.  No,  Mr. 
Editor,  such  scenes  never  happened  in  Bill  Shake 
speare's  day,  or  he  wouldn't  have  written  that  line. 

I  don't  know  that  the  lovely  inhabitants  of  yon* 


BILL   AEP.  71 

beautiful  city  need  any  forewarnings,  to  make  'em 
avoid  the  breakers  upon  which  our  vessel  was 
wrecked,  but  for  fear  they  should  some  day  shake 
their  gory  locks  at  me,  I  will  make  public  a  brief 
allusion  to  some  of  the  painful  circumstances  which 
lately  occurred  in  the  eternal  city. 

Not  many  days  ago  the  everlasting  Yankees  (may 
they  live  always  when  the  devil  gets  'em)  made  a 
valiant  assault  upon  the  city  of  the  hills— the  eternal 
city,  where  for  a  hundred  years  the  Indian  rivers 
have  been  blending  their  waters  peacefully  together 
—where  the  Cherokee  children  built  their  flutter 
mills,  and  toyed  with  frogs  and  tadpoles  whilst  these 
majestic  streams  were  but  little  spring  branches  bab 
bling  along  their  sandy  beds.  For  three  days  and 
nights  our  valiant  troops  had  beat  back  the  foul  in 
vader,  and  saved  our  pullets  from  their  devouring 
jaws.  For  three  days  and  nights  we  bade  farewell  to 
every  fear,  luxuriating  upon  the  triumph  of  our 
arms,  and  the  sweet  juices  of  our  strawberries  and 
cream.  For  three  days  and  nights  fresh  troops  from 
the  South  poured  into  our  streets  with  shouts  that 
made  the  welkin  ring,  and  the  turkey  bumps  rise  all 
over  the  flesh  of  our  people.  We  felt  that  Eome  was 
safe— secure  against  the  assault  of  the  world,  the 
flesh  and  the  devil,  which  last  individual  is  supposed 
to  be  that  horde  of  foul  invaders  who  are  seeking  to 
flank  us  out  of  both  bread  and  existence. 

But  alas  for  human  hopes!  Man  that  Is  born  of 
woman  (and  there  is  no  other  sort  that  I  know  of) 
has  but  a  few  days  that  is  not  full  of  trouble.  Al 
though  the  troops  did  shout;  although  their  brass 
band  music  swelled  upon  the  gale ;  although  the  tur 
key  bumps  rose  as  the  welkin  rung)  although  the 
commanding  general  assured  us  that  Borne  was  to 


f2  BILL   ABP. 

be  held  at  every  hazard,  and  that  on  to-morrow  the 
big  battle  was  to  be  fought,  and  the  foul  invaders 
hurled  all  howling  and  bleeding  to  the  shores  of  the 
Ohio,  yet  it  transpired  somehow  that  on  Tuesday 
night    the    military    evacuation    of    our    city    was 
peremptorily   ordered.     No   note   of   warning— no 
whisper  of  alarm— no  hint  of  the  morrow  came  from 
the  muzzled  lips  of  him  who  had  lifted  our  hopes  so 
high.    Calmly  and  coolly  we  smoked  our  killikinick, 
and  surveyed  the  embarkation  of  troops,  construing 
it  to  be  some  grand  mano3uvre  of  military  strategy. 
About  ten  o  'clock  we  retired  to  rest,  to  dream  of  to 
morrow  's  victory.     Sleep  soon  overpowered  us  like 
the  fog  that  covered  the  earth,  but  nary  bright 
dream  had  come,  nary  vision  of  freedom  and  glory. 
On  the  contrary,  our  rest  was  uneasy— strawberries 
and  cream  seemed  to  be  holding  secession  meetings 
within  our  corporate  limits,  when  suddeny,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  a  friend  aroused  us  from  our 
slumber  and  put  a  new  phase  upon  the  ' '  situation. ' ' 
General  Johnston  was  retreating,  and  the  foul  inva 
ders  were  to  pollute  our  sacred  soil  the  next  morn 
ing.     Then  came  the  tug  of   war.     With   hot    and 
feverish  haste  we  started  out  in  search  of  transpor 
tation,  but  nary  transport  could  be  had.    Time-hon 
ored    friendship,    past    favors    shown,    everlasting 
gratitude,  numerous  small  and  lovely  children,  Con 
federate  currency,  new  issues,  bank  bills,  black  bot 
tles,  and  all  influences  were  urged  and  used  to  secure 
a  corner  in  a  car;  but  nary  corner— too  late— too 
late — the  pressure  for  time  was  fearful  and  tremen 
dous—the  steady  clock  moved  on— no  Joshua  about 
to  lengthen  out  the  night,  no  rolling  stock,  no  steer, 
no  mule.    With  reluctant  and  hasty  steps,  we  pre 
pared  to  make  good  our  exit  by  that  overland  line 


BILL    ARP.  73 

which  railroads  do  not  control,  nor  A.  Q.  M.s  im 
press. 

With  our  families  and  a  little  clothing,  we  crossed 
the  Etowah  bridge  about  the  break  of  day  on  Wed 
nesday,  the  17th  of  May,  1864,  exactly  a  year  and 
two  weeks  before  the  time  when  General  Forrest 
marched  in  triumph  through  our  streets.  By  and 
by  the  bright  rays  of  the  morning  sun  dispersed  the 
heavy  fog,  which  like  a  pall  of  death  had  overspread 
all  nature.  Then  were  exhibited  to  our  afflicted 
gaze  a  highway  crowded  with  wagons  and  teams, 
cattle  and  hogs,  niggers  and  dogs,  women  and  chil 
dren,  all  moving  in  disheveled  haste  to  parts  un 
known.  Mules  were  braying,  cattle  were  lowing, 
hogs  were  squealing,  sheep  were  bleating,  children 
were  crying,  wagoners  were  cursing,  whips  were 
popping,  and  horses  stalling,  but  still  the  gran£ 
caravan  moved  on.  Everybody  was  continually 
looking  behind,  and  driving  before— everybody 
wanted  to  know  everything,  and  nobody  knew  any 
thing.  Ten  thousand  wild  rumors  filled  the  cir 
cumambient  air.  The  everlasting  cavalry  was  there, 
and  as  they  dashed  to  and  fro  gave  false  alarms  of 
the  enemy  being  in  hot  pursuit. 

About  this  most  critical  juncture  of  affairs,  some 
philanthropic  friends  passed  by  with  the  welcome 
news  that  the  bridge  was  burnt,  and  the  danger  all 
over.  Then  ceased  the  panic;  then  came  the  peace 
ful  calm  of  heroes  after  the  strife  of  war  is  over— 
then  exclaimed  Frank  Kails,  my  demoralized  friend, 
"Thank  the  good  Lord  for  that.  Bill,  let's  return 
thanks  and  stop  and  rest— boys,  let  me  get  out  and 
lie  down.  I'm  as  humble  as  a  dead  nigger — I  tell 
you  the  truth— I  sung  the  long  metre  doxology  as  I 
crossed  the  Etowah  bridge,  and  I  expected  to  be  a 


74  BILL    AKP. 

dead  man  in  fifteen  minutes.  Be  thankful,  fellows, 
let's  all  be  thankful— the  bridge  is  burnt,  and  the 
river  is  three  miles  deep.  God  sakes,  do  you  reckon 
those  Yankees  can  swim?  Get  up,  boys — let's  drive 
ahead  and  keep  moving— I  tell  you  there's  no 
accounting  for  anything  with  blue  clothes  on  these 
days— ding 'd  if  I  ain't  afraid  of  a  blue-tailed  fly." 

With  a  most  distressing  flow  of  language,  he  con 
tinued  his  rhapsody  of  random  remarks. 

Then  there  was  that  trump  of  good  fellows,  Big 
John— as  clever  as  he  is  fat,  and  as  fat  as  old  Fal- 
staff— with  inde/a^igable  diligence  he  had  secured, 
as  a  last  resort,  a  one-horse  steer  spring  wagon, 
with  a  low,  flat  body  setting  on  two  rickety  springs. 
Being  mounted  thereon,  he  was  urging  a  more 
speedy  locomotion  by  laying  on  to  the  carcass  of 
the  poor  old  steer  with  a  thrash-pole  ten  feet  long. 
Having  stopped  at  a  house,  "he  procured  a  two-inch 
auger,  and  boring  a  hole  through  the  dashboard, 
pulled  the  steer's  tail  through  and  tied  up  the  end 
in  a  knot.  "My  running  gear  is  weak,"  said  he, 
"but  I  don't  intend  to  be  stuck  in  the  mud.  If  the 
body  holds  good,  and  the  steer  don't  pull  out  his  tail, 
why,  Bill,  I  am  safe."  "My  friend,"  said  I,  "will 
you  please  inform  me  what  port  you  are  bound  for, 
and  when  you  expect  to  reach  it?"  "No  port  at  all, 
Bill,"  said  he,  "I  am  going  dead  straight  to  the  big 
Stone  Mountain.  I  am  going  to  get  on  the  top  and 
roll  rocks  down  upon  all  mankind.  I  now  forewarn 
every  living  thing  not  to  come  there  until  this  ever 
lasting  foolishness  is  over."  He  was  then  but  three 
miles  from  town,  and  had  been  traveling  the  live 
long  night.  Ah,  my  big  friend,  thought  I,  when  wilt 
thou  arrive  at  thy  journey's  end?  In  the  language 
of  Patrick  Henry,  will  it  be  the  next  week  or  the 


BILL   ARP.  75 

next  year?  Oh,  that  I  could  write  a  poem,  I  would 
embalm  thy  honest  face  in  qpic  verse.  But  I  was  in 
a  right  smart  hurry  myself,  and  only  had  time  to 
drop  his  memory  a  passing  rhyme. 

Farewell,  Big  John,  farewell! 

'Twas  painful  to  my  heart 
To  see  thy  chances  of  escape, 

Was  that  old  steer  and  cart. 

Methinks  I  see  thee  now, 

With  axletrees  all  broke, 
And  wheels  with  nary  hub  at  all, 

And  hubs  with  nary  spoke. 

But  though  the  mud  is  deep, 

Thy  wits  will  never  fail; 
That  faithful  steer  will  pull  thee  out, 

If  he  don't  pull  out  his  tail. 

Mr.  Editor,  under  such  variegated  scenes  we 
reported  progress,  and  in  course  of  time  arrived 
under  the  shadow  of  thy  city's  wings,  abounding  in 
gratitude  and  joy. 

With  sweet  and  patient  sadness,  the  tender  hearts 
of  our  wives  and  daughters  beat  mournfully  as  we 
moved  along.  Often,  alas,  how  often  was  the  tear 
seen  swimming  in  the  eye,  and  the  lips  quivering 
with  emotion,  as  memory  lingered  around  deserted 
homes,  and  thoughts  dwelt  upon  past  enjoyments 
and  future  desolation,  We  plucked  the  wildflowers 
as  we  passed,  sang  songs  of  merriment,  exchanged 
our  wit  with  children— smotnermg,  by  every  means, 
the  sorrow  of  our  fate.  These  things,  together  with 
the  comic  events  that  occurred  by  the  way,  were  the 
safety-valves  that  saved  the  poor  heart  from  burst 
ing.  But  for  these  our  heads  would  have  been  foun 
tains  and  our  hearts  a  river  of  tears.  Oh,  if  some 


76  BILL    ARP. 

kind  friend  would  set  our  retreat  to  music,  it  would 
be  greatly  appreciated  indeed.  It  should  be  a  plain 
tive  tune,  interspersed  with  occasional  comic  notes, 
and  frequent  fugues  scattered  promiscuously  along. 

Our  retreat  was  conducted  in  excellent  order, 
after  the  bridge  was  burnt.  If  there  was  any  strag 
gling  at  all,  they  straggled  ahead.  It  would  have 
delighted  General  Johnston  to  have  seen  the  alacrity 
of  our  movements. 

But  I  must  close  this  melancholy  narrative,  and 
hasten  to  subscribe  myself,  Your  runagee, 

BILL  ABP. 

P.  S.— Tip  is  still  faithful  unto  the  end.  He  says 
the  old  turkey  we  left  behind  has  been  setting  for 
fourteen  weeks,  and  the  fowl  invaders  are  welcome 
to  her.  Furthermore,  that  he  threw  a  dead  cat  into 
the  well,  and  they  are  welcome  to  that.  B.  A- 


BILL   AEP.  77 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


His  LATE  TRIALS  AND  ADVENTUKES. 

Some  frog-eating  Frenchman  has  written  a  book, 
and  called  it  " Lee's  Miserables, ' '  or  some  other  such 
name,  which  I  suppose  contains  the  misfortunes  of 
poor  refugees  in  the  wake  of  the  Virginny  army. 
General  Hood  has  also  got  a  few  miserables  in  the 
suburbs  of  his  fighting-ground,  and  if  any  man  given 
to  romance  would  like  a  fit  subject  for  a  weeping  nar 
rative,  we  are  now  ready  to  furnish  the  mournful 
material. 

As  the  Yankees  remarked  at  Bull  Eun,  "  those  are 
the  times  that  try  men's  soles,"  and  I  suppose  my 
interesting  family  is  now  prepared  to  show  stone 
bruises  and  blisters  with  anybody.  It  is  a  long  story, 
Mr.  Editor,  and  cannot  possibly  be  embraced  in  a 
single  column  of  your  wandering  newspaper;  but  I 
will  condense  it  as  briefly  as  possible,  smoothing  over 
the  most  affecting  parts,  so  as  not  to  occasion  too 
great  a  diffusion  of  sympathetic  tears. 

After  our  hasty  flight  from  the  eternal  city,  we 
became  converted  over  to  the  doctrine  of  squatter 
sovereignty,  and  pitched  our  tents  in  the  piney  woods. 
Afar  off  in  those  fields  of  illimitable  space,  we 
roamed  through  the  abstruse  regions  of  the  philoso 
phic  world.  There  no  unfriendly  soldier  was  perus 
ing  around  and  asking  for  papers.  There  the  melan 
choly  mind  was  soothed.  There  the  lonely  runagee 
could  contemplate  the  sandy  roads,  the  wire-grass 
woods,  and  the  millions  of  majestic  pines  that  stood 


78  BILL   AEP. 

like  ten-pins  in  an  alley,  awaiting  some  huge  cannon- 
ball  to  come  along  and  knock  'em  down.  The  moun 
tain  scenery  in  this  romantic  country  was  grand, 
gloomy  and  peculiar,  consisting  in  numberless 
gopher-hills,  spewed  up  in  promiscuous  beauty  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach.  All  around  us  the  swamp 
frogs  were  warbling  their  musical  notes.  All  above 
us  the  pines  were  sighing  and  singing  their  mournful 
tunes.  Dame  Nature  has  spread  herself  there  in 
showing  her  lavish  hand,  and  wasting  timber  along 
those  endless  glades.  Truly,  we  were  treading  on 
classic  ground,  for  we  pitched  our  tents  in  a  black 
berry  patch,  and  morning,  noon  and  night,  luxuriated 
in  peace  upon  the  delicious  fruit  which  everywhere 
adorned  the  sandy  earth. 

But  those  piney  woods  to  which  we  fled  did  not 
by  any  means  agree  with  our  ideas  of  future  comfort. 
After  it  had  rained  some  forty  days  and  forty  nights 
without  a  recess,  the  corn  crop  had  pretty  well  died 
out,  and  General  Starvation  seemed  about  to  assume 
command  of  the  region  around  about. 

We  felt  constrained  to  depart  from  those  coasts, 
and  seek  an  Egypt  somewhere  in  a  rounder  and  more 
rolling  country.  So  we  took  the  train  for  Atlanta  and 
designed  to  take  roundance  from  there  and  find  a 
retreat  away  up  the  Chattahoochee  river  where  Mrs. 
Arp's  father  lived. 

All  along  the  line,  at  every  station,  pretty  women 
got  on  and  got  off.  When  they  leave  us,  an  affection 
ate  man  like  myself  unconsciously  whispers,  "Depart 
in  peace,  ye  treasures  of  delight. ' '  Casting  a  longing, 
lingering  look  behind,  I  exclaimed  in  the  beautiful 
language  of  Mr.  Shakespeare,  'I  have  thee  not,  but 
yet  I  see  thee  still. '  Farewell,  sweet  darlings,  until  I 
come  again.  But  woman  is  sometimes  very  varie- 


BILL    AKP.  79 

gated  and  peculiar  in  the  way  she  does.  I  am  just 
reminded  how,  on  a  late  occasion,  I  found  but  one 
vacant  seat  in  the  car  after  I  located  my  numerous 
and  interesting  family.  A  luxurious  lady,  with 
some  aggravating  curls,  had  occupied  nearly  all  of 
a  seat,  spreading  herself  like  a  setting-hen,  all  over 
the  velvet  cushion.  " Madam,  can  I  share  this  seat 
with  you?"  said  I.  "Certainly  sir,"  and  she  closed 
in  her  skirts  some  several  inches.  In  a  short  space 
of  time  she  became  affected  with  drowsiness.  Her 
neck  became  as  limber  as  a  greasy  rag.  Leaning  on 
my  shoulder,  she  seemed  wonderfully  affectionate, 
as  her  head  kept  bobbing  around,  and  I  felt  very 
peculiar  at  such  times  as  she  would  subside  into  my 
palpitating  bosom.  About  this  critical  juncture,  I 
ventured  to  turn  my  astonished  gaze  towards  Mrs. 
Arp,  and  seeing  that  she  was  waiting  for  some  re 
mark,  I  observed,  "Hadn't  I  better  remove  my  seat? 
Do  you  think  I  can  endure  the  like  of  this?" 

"I  do  not,  William,"  said  she.  "You  had  better 
stand  up  awhile,  and  when  you  get  tired  some  of  the 
children  will  relieve  you."  The  glance  of  her  eye 
and  the  manner  in  which  she  spoke  brought  me  up 
standing,  and  gave  me  a  correct  view  of  the  situa 
tion.  Immediately  I  assumed  a  perpendicular  atti 
tude,  and  the  curly  head  was  left  without  a  prop.  I 
assure  you,  Mr.  Editor,  a  man's  wife  is  the  best 
judge  of  such  peculiar  things ;  and  as  for  me,  I  am 
always  governed  by  it. 

We  arrived  in  Atlanta  about  the  time  the  first  big 
shells  commenced  scattering  their  unfeeling  con 
tents  among  the  suburbs  of  that  devoted  city.  Then 
came  the  big  panics;  then  shrieked  the  man-eater; 
then  howled  the  wild  hyena  among  the  hills  of 
Babylon. 


80  BILL    AKP. 

All  sorts  of  people  seemed  moving  in  all  sorts  of 
ways,  with  an    accelerated    motion.     They    gained 
ground  on  their  shadows  as  they  leaned  forward  on 
the  run,  and  their  legs  grew  longer  at  every  step. 
With  me  it  was  the  second  ringing  of  the  first  bell. 
I  had  sorter  got  used  to  the  thing,  and  set  myself 
down  to  take  observations.     "How  many  miles  of 
Milybright?"  said  I.     But  no  response  came,  for 
their  legs  were  as  long  as  light,  and  every  bursting 
shell  was  an  old  witch  on  the  road.    Cars  was  the  all 
in  all.    Depots  were  the  center  of  space,  converging 
lines  from  every  point  of  the  compass  made  tracks 
to  the  offices    of   railroad   superintendents.     These 
functionaries  very  prudently  vamoosed  the  ranch  to 
avoid  their  too  numerous  friends,  leaving  positive 
orders  to  their  subordinates.     The  passenger  depot 
was  thronged  with  anxious  seekers  of  transporta 
tion.    "Won't  you  let  these  boxes  go  as  baggage?" 
"No,  madam,  it  is  impossible."     Just  then  some 
body's  family  trunk  as  big  as  a  nitre  bureau  was 
shoved  in,  and  the  poor  woman  got  desperate.   "All 
I've  got  ain't  as  heavy  as  that,"  said  she;  "I  am  a 
poor  widow,  and  my  husband  was  killed  in  the  army. 
I've  got  five  children,  and   three    of  them  cutting 
teeth,  and  my  things  have  got  to  go."    We  took  up 
her  boxes  and  shoved  them  in.  Another  good  woman 
asked  very  anxiously  for  the  Macon  train.    "There 
it  is,  madam,"  said  I.    She  shook  her  head  mourn 
fully  and  remarked,  "You  are  mistaken,  sir,  don't 
you  see  the  engine  is  headed  right  up  the  State  road, 
towards  the  Yankees?    I  shan't  take  any  train  with 
the  engine  at  that  end  of  it.    No,  sir,  that  ain't  the 
Macon  train."    Everybody  was  hurrying  to  and  fro 
at  a  lively  tune.    "What's   today,  nigger?"  said  a 
female  darkey  with  a  hoopskirt  on  her  arm.    "Taint 


BILL   ABP.  81 

no  day,  honey,  dat  ever  I  seed.  Yesterday  was  Sun 
day,  and  I  reckon  today  is  Eunday  from  de  way  de 
white  folks  are  movin'  about.  Yah,  yah;  ain't 
afeered  of  Yankees  myself,  but  dem  sizzin'  bum- 
shells  kills  a  nigger  quicker  dan  you  can  lick  your 
tongue  out.  Gwine  to  get  away  from  here— I  is." 

I  went  into  a  doctor's  shop,  and  found  my  friend 
packing  up  his  vials  and  poisons  and  copiva  and  such 
like.  Various  excited  individuals  came  in,  looked  at 
a  big  map  on  the  wall,  and  pointed  out  the  roads  to 
McDonough  and  Eatonton  and  Jasper,  and  soon 
their  proposed  lines  of  travel  were  easily  and  greas 
ily  visible  from  the  impression  of  their  perspiring 
fingers.  An  old  skeleton,  with  but  one  leg,  was 
swinging  from  the  ceiling  looking  like  a  mournful 
emblem  of  the  fate  of  the  troubled  city.  "You  are 
going  to  leave  him  to  stand  guard,  doctor?"  said  I. 
"I  suppose  I  will,"  said  he;  "got  no  transportation 
for  him."  "Take  the  screw  out  of  his  skull,"  said 
I,  ' '  and  give  him  a  crutch,  maybe  he  will  travel ;  all 
flesh  is  moving  and  I  think  the  bones  will  catch  the 
contagion  soon." 

A  few  doors  further,  and  a  venerable  auctioneer 
was  surveying  the  rushing,  running  crowd,  and 
every  now  and  then  he  would  raise  his  arm  with  a 
seesaw  motion  and  exclaim,  "Going — going — gone! 
Who's  the  bidder?"  "Old  Daddy  Time,"  said  I, 
"he'll  get  them  all  before  long."  The  door  of  an 
old  friend's  residence  swung  open  to  my  gaze,  and 
I  walked  in.  Various  gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance 
were  discussing  their  evidences  of  propriety  over  a 
jug  of  departing  spirits.  "I  believe  I'll  unpack," 
said  one.  "Dinged  if  I'm  afraid  of  a  blue-tailed  fly; 
I'm  going  to  sit  down  and  be  easy."  "In  a  horn," 
(6) 


82  BILL   ARP. 

said  I.  Just  then  a  sizzing,  singing,  crazy  shell  sung 
a  short-metre  hymn  right  over  the  house.  "Jake, 
has  the  dray  come?"  he  said,  bouncing  to  his  feet: 
"confound  that  dray— blame  my  skin  if  I'll  ever  get 
a  dray  to  move  these  things— boys,  lets  all  stay; 
durned  if  it  don't  look  cowardly  to  run!  Boys,  here's 
to— who  shall  we  drink  to?"  "Here's  to  Cassa- 
bianca,"  said  I.  "Good,  good,"  they  all  shouted. 
"Here's  to  Cabysianka.  Let  me  speak  it  for  you, 
boys,"  said  out  host;  "I've  spoken  it  a  thousand 
times. ' '  He  mounted  the  seat  of  a  broken  sofa,  and 
spreading  himself,  declaimed: 

"The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck, 
When  all  had  fled  but  him." 

"That's  me,"  said  one.  "It's  me  exactly,"  said 
another.  "I'm  Babysianka  myself— dog  my  cat  if  I 
don't  be  the  last  one  to  leave  this  ship."  Another 
shell  sizzed,  and  bursted  a  few  yards  off.  "Boys, 
let's  take  another  drink  and  leave  the  town— dod  rot 
the  Yankees."  "Here's  to— the— the  'Last  of  the 
Mohicans,'  "  said  I.  "Exactly— that's  so.  I'm  him 
myself.  I'm  the  mast  of  the  Lohikens;  durned  if 
I'll  leave  these  diggins  as  long  as— as  long  as—" 
"As  the  State  road,"  said  I,  "which  is  now  about 
four  inches  and  a  half. "  "  That 's  it ;  that 's  so, ' '  said 
my  friends.  "Here's  to  the  State  road  and  Dr. 
Brown  and  Joe  Phillips,  as  long  as  four  inches  and 
a  half." 

By  and  by  the  shells  fell  as  thick  as  Governor 
Brown's  proclamations,  causing  a  more  speedy  loco 
motion  in  the  excited  throng  who  hurried  by  the 
door,  but  my  friends  inside  had  passed  the  Kubicon, 
and  one  by  one  retired  to  dream  of  Bozarris  and 
his  Suliote  band.  Vacant  rooms  and  long  corridors 


BILL    AKP.  83 

techoed  with  their  snores,  and   they    appeared   like 
sleeping  heroes  in  the  halls  of  the  Montezumas. 

Contagious  diseases  are  said  to  be  catching,  and 
the  Atlanta  big  panics  brought  the  Atlanta  folk  to 
an  active  perpendicular  quicker  than  all  the  physics 
ever  seen  in  a  city  drug  store.  It  certainly  has  a 
tendency  to  arouse  the  dormant  energies  of  feeble 
invalids.  Weak  backs  and  lame  legs,  old  chronics 
and  rheumatics,  in  fact,  all  the  internal  diseases 
which  honest  fear  of  powder  and  ball  had  developed 
since  the  war  begun,  were  now  forgotten  in  the  gen 
eral  flight;  and  the  examination  boards  could  have 
seen  many  a  discharge  invalidated,  and  a  living, 
moving  lie  given  to  their  certificates. 

All  day  and  all  night  the  iron  horses  were  snorting 
to  the  echoing  breeze.  Train  after  train  of  goods 
and  chattels  moved  down  the  road,  leaving  hundreds 
of  anxious  faces  waiting  their  return.  There  was  no 
method  in  this  madness.  All  kinds  of  plunder  was 
tumbled  in  promiscuously.  A  huge  parlor  mirror, 
some  six  feet  by  eight,  all  bound  in  elegant  gold, 
with  a  brass  buzzard  spreading  his  wings  on  top, 
was  set  up  at  the  end  of  the  car  and  reflected  a  beau 
tiful  assortment  of  parlor  furniture  to  match,  such 
as  pots,  kettles,  baskets,  bags,  barrels,  kegs,  bacon 
and  bedsteads  piled  up  together.  Government 
officials  had  the  preference  and  government  officials 
all  have  friends.  Any  clever  man  with  a  charming 
wife  or  a  pretty  sister  could  secure  a  corner  in  more 
cars  than  one,  and  I  will  privately  mention  to  you, 
Mr.  Editor,  that  I  have  found  a  heap  of  civility  on 
this  account  myself.  Indeed,  I  have  always  thought 
that  no  man  is  excusable  who  has  not  either  one  or 
the  other. 


84  BILL   AEP. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


BILL  ABP  ADDBESSES  AKTEMUS  WABD. 

ROME,  GA.,  September  1,  1865. 
MB.  ABTEMUS  WABD,  Showman— 

SIB  :  The  reason  I  write  to  you  in  particler,  is 
because  you  are  about  the  only  man  I  know  in  all 
' '  God 's  country, ' '  so-called.  For  some  several  weeks 
I  have  been  wantin'  to  say  sumthin'.  For  some  sev 
eral  years  we  rebs,  so-called,  but  now  late  of  said 
country  deceased,  have  been  tryin'  mighty  hard  to  do 
somethin'.  We  didn't  quite  do  it,  and  now  it's  very 
painful,  I  assure  you,  to  dry  up  all  of  a  sudden,  and 
make  out  like  we  wasn't  there. 

My  friends,  I  want  to  say  somethin'.  I  suppose 
there  is  no  law  agin  thinkin',  but  thinkin'  don't  help 
me.  It  don't  let  down  my  themometer.  I  must 
explode  myself  generally  so  as  to  feel  better.  You 
see  I'm  tryin'  to  harmonize.  I'm  tryin'  to  soften 
down  my  feelin's.  I'm  endeavoring  to  subjugate 
myself  to  the  level  of  surroundin'  circumstances,  so- 
called.  But  I  can't  do  it  until  I  am  allowed  to  say 
somethin'.  I  want  to  quarrel  with  somebody  and 
then  make  friends.  I  ain't  no  giant-killer.  I  ain't 
no  Norwegian  bar.  I  ain't  no  boa-constrickter,  but 
I'll  be  horn-swaggled  if  the  talkin'  and  writin'  and 
slanderin'  has  got  to  be  all  done  on  one  side  any 
longer.  Sum  of  your  folks  have  got  to  dry  up  or  turn 
our  folks  loose.  It's  a  blamed  outrage,  so-called. 
Ain't  you  editors  got  nothin'  else  to  do  but  peck  at 
us,  and  squib  at  us,  and  crow  over  us  ?  Is  every  man 


ABP.  85 

what  can  write  a  paragraph  to  consider  us  bars  in  a 
cage,  and  be  always  a-jobbin'  at  ns  to  hear  ns  growl? 
Now,  you  see,  my  friend,  that's  what's  disharmon 
ious,  and  do  you  jest  tell  'em,  one  and  all,  e  pluribus 
unum,  so-called,  that  if  they  don't  stop  it  at  once  or 
turn  us  loose  to  say  what  we  please,  why,  why,  we 
rebs,  so-called,  have  unanimously  and  jointly  and 
severally  resolved  to— to— to— think  very  hard  of  it 
—if  not  harder. 

That's  the  way  to  talk  it.  I  ain't  agoin'  to  commit 
myself.  I  know  when  to  put  on  the  brakes.  I  ain't 
goin'  to  say  all  I  think.  Nary  time.  No,  sir.  But 
I'll  jest  tell  you,  Artemus,  and  you  may  tell  it  to  your 
show.  If  we  ain't  allowed  to  express  our  sentiments, 
we  can  take  it  out  in  hatin';  and  hatin'  runs  heavy 
in  my  family,  sure.  I  hated  a  man  once  so  bad  that 
all  the  hair  cum  off  my  head,  and  the  man  drowned 
himself  in  a  hog-waller  that  night.  I  could  do  it  agin^ 
but  you  see  I'm  tryin'  to  harmonize,  to  acquiess,  to 
becum  calm  and  sereen. 

Now,  I  suppose  that,  poetically  speakin', 

"In  Dixie's  fall, 
We  sinned  all." 

But  talkin'  the  way  I  see  it,  a  big  feller  and  a  little 
feller  so-called,  got  into  a  fite,  and  they  f out  and  font 
a  long  time,  and  everybody  all  'round  kept  hollerin', 
" hands  off,"  but  helpin'  the  big  feller,  until  finally 
the  little  feller  caved  in  and  hollered  enuf .  He  made 
a  bully  fite,  I  tell  you.  Well,  what  did  the  big  feller 
do?  Take  him  by  the  hand  and  help  him  up,  and 
brush  the  dirt  off  his  clothes  ?  Nary  time !  No,  sur ! 
But  he  kicked  him  arter  he  was  down,  and  throwed 
mud  on  him,  and  drugged  him  about  and  rubbed  sand 
in  his  eyes,  and  now  he's  gwine  about  huntin'  up  his 


86  BILL   ABP. 

poor  little  property.  Wants  to  confiscate  it,  so- 
called.  Blame  my  jacket  if  it  ain't  enuf  to  make 
your  head  swim. 

But  I'm  a  good  Union  man,  so-called.  I  ain't 
agwine  to  fight  no  more.  I  shan't  vote  for  the  next 
war.  I  ain't  no  gurilla.  I've  done  tuk  the  oath,  and 
I'm  gwine  to  keep  it,  but  as  for  my  being  subjugated, 
and  humilyated  and  amalgamated,  and  enervated, 
as  Mr.  Chase  says,  it  ain't  so— nary  time.  I  ain't 
ashamed  of  nuthin'  neither— ain't  repentin'— ain't 
axin'  for  no  one-horse,  short-winded  pardon.  No 
body  needn's  be  playin'  priest  around  me.  I  ain't 
got  no  twenty  thousand  dollars.  Wish  I  had;  I'd 
give  it  to  these  poor  widders  and  orfins.  I'd  fatten 
my  own  numerous  and  interestin'  offspring  in  about 
two  minutes  and  a  half.  They  shouldn't  eat  roots 
and  drink  branch-water  no  longer.  Poor  unfortu 
nate  things!  to  cum  into  this  subloonary  world  at 
such  a  time.  There's  Bull  Bun  Arp,  and  Harper's 
Ferry  Arp,  and  Chicahominy  Arp,  that  never  saw 
the  pikters  in  a  spellin'  book.  I  tell  you,  my  friends, 
we  are  the  poorest  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth- 
but  we  are  poor  and  proud.  We  made  a  bully  fite, 
and  the  whole  American  nation  ought  to  feel  proud 
of  it.  It  shows  what  Americans  can  do  when  they 
think  they  are  imposed  upon.  Didn't  our  four  fath 
ers  fight,  bleed  and  die  about  a  little  tax  on  tea,  when 
not  one  in  a  thousand  drunk  it!  Bekaus  they  suc 
ceeded,  wasn't  it  glory?  But  if  they  hadn't,  I  sup 
pose  it  would  have  been  treason,  and  they  would 
have  been  bowin'  and  scrapin'  round  King  George 
for  pardon.  So  it  goes,  Artemus,  and  to  my  mind, 
if  the  whole  thing  was  stewed  down  it  would  make 
about  half  a  pint  of  humbug.  We  had  good  men, 
great  men,  Christian  men,  who  thought  we  was 


BILL    AEP.  87 

right,  and  many  of  them  have  gone  to  the  undiscov 
ered  country,  and  have  got  a  pardon  as  is  a  pardon. 
When  I  die  I  am  mighty  willing  to  risk  myself  under 
the  shadow  of  their  wings,  whether  the  climate  be 
hot  or  cold.  So  mote  it  be. 

Well,  maybe  IVe  said  enough.  But  I  don't  feel 
easy  yet.  I'm  a  good  Union  man,  certain  and  sure. 
IVe  had  my  breeches  died  blue,  and  IVe  hot  a  blue 
bucket,  and  I  very  often  feel  blue,  and  about  twice 
in  a  while  I  go  to  the  doggery  and  git  blue,  and  then 
I  look  up  at  the  blue  cerulean  heavens  and  sing  the 
melanchonly  chorus  of  the  Blue-tailed  Fly.  I'm 
doin'  my  durndest  to  harmonize,  and  think  I  could 
succeed  if  it  wasn't  for  sum  things. 

I  don't  want  much.  I  ain't  ambitious,  as  I  used 
to  was.  You  all  have  got  your  shows  and  monkeys 
and  sircusses  and  brass  bands  and  organs,  and  can 
play  on  the  patrolyum  and  the  harp  of  a  thousand 
strings,  and  so  on,  but  IVe  only  got  one  favor  to  ax 
you.  I  want  enough  powder  to  kill  a  big  yaller 
stump-tail  dog  that  prowls  around  my  premises  at 
night.  Pon  my  honor,  I  won't  shoot  at  anything 
blue  or  black  or  mulatter.  Will  you  send  it?  Are 
you  and  your  folks  so  skeered  of  me  and  my  folks 
that  you  won't  let  us  have  any  ammunition  I  Are 
the  squirrels  and  crows  and  black  racoons  to  eat  up 
our  little  corn-patches  ?  Are  the  wild  turkeys  to  gob 
ble  all  around  with  impunity?  If  a  mad  dog  takes 
the  hiderphoby,  is  the  whole  community  to  run  itself 
to  death  to  get  out  of  the  way?  I  golly !  it  looks  like 
your  people  had  all  took  the  rebelf oby  for  good,  and 
was  never  gwine  to  get  over  it.  See  here,  my  friend, 
you  must  send  me  a  little  powder  and  a  ticket  to  your 
show,  and  me  and  you  will  harmonize  sertin. 


88  BILL   AEP. 

With  these  few  remarks  I  think  I  feel  better,  and 
I  hope  I  hain't  made  nobody  fightin'  mad,  for  I'm 
not  on  that  line  at  this  time. 

I  am  truly;  your  friend,  all  present  or  accounted 
for. 


BILL   ARP. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SMOKING  THE  PIPE  OF  PEACE. 

I  love  to  meet  a  nabor  and  hear  him  say;  "how's 
craps?"  I  continue  to  like  farmin'.  I  like  it  better 
and  better,  except  that  the  wheat  is  sumwhat  doubt 
ful  about  making  a  crop.  A  little  long  bug  with  a 
tail  at  both  ends  has  got  in  the  joints  and  sucked  the 
sap  out,  and  it's  fallin'  down  in  patches.  Looks  like 
there  is  always  somethin'  preyin  on  something  and 
nothin'  is  safe  from  disaster  in  this  subloonary  world. 
Flies  and  bugs  and  rust  prey  on  the  green  wheat. 
Weevils  eat  it  up  when  it's  cut  and  put  away.  Eats 
eat  the  corn— moles  eat  the  gubbers— hawks  eat  the 
chickens— the  minks  killed  three  of  our  ducks  in  one 
night— cholera  kills  the  hogs  and  the  other  night  one 
of  my  nabor 's  mules  cum  along  with  the  blind  stag 
gers  and  fell  up  a  pair  of  seven  steps  right  into  my 
front  gate  and  died  without  kickin'.  Then  there  is 
briars  and  nettles  and  tread  safts  and  smartweed 
and  poison  that's  always  in  the  way  on  a  farm,  and 
must  be  looked  after  keerfully,  especially  snakes, 
which  are  my  eternal  horror,  and  I  shall  always  be 
lieve  are  sum  kin  to  the  devil  himself.  I  can't  toler 
ate  such  long  insects.  But  we  farmers  have  to  take 
the  bad  with  the  good,  and  there  is  more  good  than 
bad  with  me  up  to  the  present  time. 

I  wonder  if  Harris  ever  saw  a  pack  saddle.  Well, 
it's  as  pretty  as  a  rainbow,  just  like  the  most  all  of 
the  devil's  contrivances,  and  when  you  crowd  one  of 
'em  on  a  fodderblade  you'd  think  that  forty  yaller 


90  BILL,    ARP. 

jackets  had  stung  you  all  in  a  bunch  and  with  malice 
aforethought.  And  there 's  the  devil's  race  horse 
which  plies  around  about  this  time  and,  Uncle  Isam 
says,  chaws  tobakker  like  a  gentleman,  and  if  he  spit 
in  your  eyes  you'd  go  blind  in  a  half  a  second.  And 
one  day  he  showed  me  the  devil's  darning  needle 
which  mends  up  the  old  fellow's  stockins,  and  the 
devil's  snuff  box  which  explodes  when  you  mash  it, 
and  one  ounce  of  the  stuff  inside  will  kill  a  sound 
mule  before  he  can  lay  down.  Then  there's  some 
flowers  that  he  wears  in  his  button-hole  called  the 
devil 's  shoestring  and  the  devil  in  the  bush. 

I  like  farmin'.  Its  an  honest,  quiet  life,  and  it 
does  me  so  much  good  to  work  and  get  all  over  in  a 
sweat  of  prespiration.  I  enjoy  my  umble  food  and 
my  repose,  and  get  up  every  mornin'  renewed  and 
rejuvenated  like  an  eagle  in  his  flight,  or  words  to 
that  effect.  I  know  I  shall  like  it  more  and  more,  for 
we  have  already  passed  over  the  Rubycon,  and  are 
beginnin'  to  reap  the  rewards  of  industry.  Spring 
chickens  have  got  ripe,  and  the  hens  keep  bloomin' 
on.  Over  200  now  respond  to  my  wife's  call  every 
morning,  as  she  totes  around  the  bread  tray  a-singin' 
tcheeky,  tcheeky,  tcheeky.  I  tell  you,  she  watches 
those  birds  close  for  she  knows  the  value  of  'em.  She 
was  raised  a  Methodist,  she  was,  and  many  a  time  has 
watched  through  the  crack  of  the  door  sadly,  and 
seen  the  preachers  helped  to  the  last  gizzard  in  the 
dish.  There  was  54  chickens,  7  ducks,  5  goslins,  12 
turkeys  and  seven  pigs,  hatched  out  last  week,  and 
Daisy  had  a  calf  and  Mollie  a  colt,  besides.  This 
looks  like  bisness,  don't  it!  This  is  what  I  call  suc 
cessful  farmin' — multiplying  and  replenishing  ac 
cording  to  Scripter.  Then  we  have  a  plenty  of  peas 
and  potatoes  and  other  garden  yerbs,  which  helps  a 


BILL    AEP.  91 

poor  man  out,  and  by  the  4th  of  July  will  have  wheat 
bread  and  buiskit  and  blackberry  pies,  and  pass  a 
regular  declaration  of  independence. 

I  like  farmin'.  I  like  latitude  and  longitude. 
When  we  were  penned  up  in  town  my  children 
couldn't  have  a  sling-shot,  or  a  bow  and  arrow,  nor 
a  chicken  fight  in  the  back  yard,  nor  sick  a  dog  01 
another  dog,  nor  let  off  a  big  Injun  whoop,  without 
some  neighbor  making  a  fuss  about  it.  And  then, 
again,  there  was  a  show,  or  a  dance,  or  a  bazar,  or  a 
missionary  meeting  most  every  night,  and  it  did  look 
like  the  children  were  just  obleeged  to  go,  or  the 
world  would  come  to  an  end.  It  was  money,  money, 
money  all  the  time,  but  now  there  isn't  a  store  or  a 
milliner  shop  within  five  miles  of  us,  and  we  do  our 
own  work,  and  have  learned  what  it  costs  to  make  a 
bushel  of  corn  and  a  barrel  of  flour,  and  by  the  time 
Mrs.  Arp  has  nursed  and  raised  a  lot  of  chickens  and 
turkeys,  she  thinks  so  much  of  'em  she  don't  want 
us  to  kill  'em,  and  they  are  a  heap  better  and  fatter 
than  any  we  used  to  buy.  We  've  got  a  great  big  fire 
place  in  the  family  room,  and  can  boil  the  coffee,  or 
heat  a  kettle  of  water  on  the  hearth  if  we  want  to, 
for  we  are  not  on  the  lookout  for  company  all  the 
time  like  we  used  to  be.  We  don 't  cook  half  as  much 
as  we  used  to,  nor  waste  a  whole  parsel  every  day 
on  the  darkey,  and  we  eat  what  is  set  before  us,  and 
are  thankful. 

It's  a  wonder  to  me  that  everybody  don't  go  to 
farmin'.  Lawyers  and  doctors  have  to  set  about 
town  and  play  checkers,  and  talk  politics  and  wait 
for  somebody  to  quarrel  or  fight,  or  get  sick;  clerks 
and  book-keepers  figure  and  multiply  and  count 
until  they  get  to  counting  the  stars  and  the  flies  on 
the  ceiling,  and  the  peas  in  the  dish,  and  the  flowers 


92  BII^    ARP. 

on  the  papering;  the  jeweler  sits  by  his  window  all 
the  year  round,  working  on  little  wheels,  and  the 
mechanic  strikes  the  same  kind  of  a  lick  every  day. 
These  people  do  not  belong  to  themselves ;  they  are 
all  penned  up  like  convicts  in  a  chain-gang;  they 
can't  take  a  day  nor  an  hour  for  recreation,  for  they 
are  the  servants  of  their  employers.  There  is  no 
profession  that  gives  a  man  such  freedom,  such  lati 
tude,  and  such  a  variety  of  employment  as  farmin'. 

While  I  was  ruminating  this  morning,  a  boy  come 
along  and  said  the  dogs  had  treed  something  down 
in  the  bottom.  So  me  and  my  boys  shouldered  the 
guns  and  an  ax,  and  took  Mrs.  Arp  and  the  children 
along  to  see  the  sport.  We  cut  down  a  hollow  gum 
tree,  and  caught  a  'possum  and  two  squirrels,  and 
killed  a  rabbit  on  the  run,  and  had  a  good  time  gen 
erally,  with  no  loss  on  our  side.  We  can  stop  work 
most  any  time  to  give  welcome  to  a  passing  friend 
and  have  a  little  chat,  and  our  nabors  do  the  same 
by  us;  but  if  you  go  into  one  of  these  factories  or 
workshops,  or  even  a  printing  office,  the  first  sign 
board  that  greets  you  says,  " Don't  talk  to  the  work 
men."  Sociable  crowd,  ain't  it? 

There's  no  monotony  upon  the  farm.  There's 
something  new  every  day,  and  the  changing  work 
brings  into  action  every  muscle  in  the  human  frame. 
We  plow  and  hoe,  and  harrow  and  sow,  and  gather 
it  in  at  harvest  time.  We  look  after  the  horses  and 
cows,  the  pigs  and  sows,  and  the  rams  and  the  lambs, 
and  the  chickens,  and  the  turkeys,  and  geese.  We 
cut  our  own  wood,  and  raise  our  own  bread  and 
meat,  and  don't  have  to  be  stingy  of  it  like  city 
folks.  A  friend,  who  visited  us  not  long  ago,  wrote 
back  from  the  town,  that  his  grate  don't  seem  bigger 


BILL   ABP.  93 

than  the  crown  of  his  hat  since  he  sat  by  our  great 
big  friendly  fireplace. 

But  they  do  git  the  joak  on  me  sometimes,  for  you 
see,  I'm  farmin'  according  to  schedule,  and  it  don't 
always  make  things  exactly  luminous.  Fur  in 
stance,  it  is  said  that  cotton  seed  is  an  excellent  fer 
tilizer.  Well,  I  had  'em,  and  as  they  was  a  clean, 
nice  thing  to  handle,  I  put  'em  under  most  every 
thing  in  my  garding.  I  was  a-runnin'  ingun  sets 
heavy,  and  one  mornin'  went  out  to  peruse  'em  and 
I  saw  the  straight  track  of  a  big  mole  under  every 
row.  He  jest  histed  'em  all  up  about  three  inches. 
He  hadn't  eat  nary  one,  and  thinks  I  to  myself,  he's 
goin'  around  a-smellin'  of  'em.  Next  mornin'  all 
my  sets  was  a  settin'  about  six  inches  up  in  the  air 
and  on  top  of  the  thickest  stand  of  cotton  you  ever 
did  see.  Now,  if  I  had  known  about  spilin'  of  'em, 
as  my  nabors  call  it,  before  used  'em  it  would 
have  been  more  luminous.  Howsoever,  I  knifed  'em 
down  and  set  the  inguns  back  again,  and  nobody 
ain't  got  a  finer  crop. 

It's  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  set  in  my  piazzer 
these  pleasant  evenings  and  look  over  the  farm,  and 
smoke  the  pipe  of  peace,  and  ruminate.  Kuminate 
upon  the  rise  and  fall  of  empires  and  parties  and 
presidents  and  preachers.  I  think  when  a  man  has 
passed  the  Rubicon  of  life,  and  seen  his  share  of 
trouble  smokin'  is  allowable,  for  it  kinder  recon 
ciles  him  to  live  on  a  while  longer  and  promotes 
philosophic  reflections.  I  never  knowed  a  high- 
tempered  man  to  be  fond  of  it. 

I  may  be  mistaken,  but  it  seems  to  me  a  little 
higher  grade  of  happiness  to  look  out  upon  the 
green  fields  of  wheat  and  the  leafing  trees  and  the 
blue  mountains  in  the  distance  and  hear  the  dove 


94  BILL   ABP. 

cooing  to  her  mate,  and  the  whippoorwill  sing  a 
welcome  to  the  night,  and  hunt  flowers  and  hubby 
blossoms  with  the  children,  and  make  whistles  for 
'em  and  hear  'em  blow,  and  see  'em  get  after  a 
jumpin'  frog  or  a  garter  snake,  and  hunt  hen's 
nests,  and  paddle  in  the  branch  and  get  dirty  and 
wet  all  over,  and  watch  their  penitent  and  subdued 
expression  when  they  go  home,  as  Mrs.  Arp  looks 
at  'em  with  amazement  and  exclaims,  "  Mercy  on 
me;  did  ever  a  poor  mother  have  such  a  set?  Will 
I  ever  get  done  making  clothes?  Put  these  on  right 
clean  this  morning,  and  not  another  clean  rag  in  the 
house !  Get  me  a  switch,  right  straight ;  go !  I  will 
not  stand  it ! "  But  she  will  stand  it,  and  they  know 
it— especially  if  I  remark,  "Yes,  they  ought  to  be 
whipped."  That  saves  'em  and  by  the  time  the 
switch  comes  the  tempest  is  over  and  some  dry 
clothes  are  found,  and  if  there  is  any  cake  in  the 
house  they  get  it.  Blessed  mother!  Fortunate 
children!  What  would  they  do  without  her?  Why 
her  very  scolding  is  music  in  their  tender  ears.  I'm 
thankful  that  there  are  some  things  that  corner  in 
the  domestic  circle  that  Wall  street  cannot  buy  nor 
money  kings  depress. 


BILL   ARP.  95 


CHAPTER  XL 


TRIALS  AND  TRIBULATIONS. 

11  All  the  world's  a  stage, "  as  Mr.  Shakespeare 
says,  and  all  the  men  and  women  merely  travelers. 
It  is  a  mighty  big  stage,  of  course— in  fact,  an  omni 
bus,  for  it  carries  us  all,  and  we  are  traveling  along 
and  getting  in  and  getting  out  all  along  the  line,  and 
ever  and  anon  stopping  by  the  wayside  to  nurse  our 
sick  and  bury  our  dead.  There  is  nothing  else  that 
puts  on  the  brakes  as  we  move  down  the  big  road  on 
the  journey  of  life.  Sickness  and  death  are  a  veto 
upon  all  progress,  and  upon  plans,  and  schemes,  and 
hopes,  and  ambition,  and  fame,  and  fashion  and  folly. 
We  suffer  awhile  and  stop  awhile,  but  if  we  don't  die 
we  get  in  the  stage  again  and  move  on  with  the  crowd. 
Sickness  knocks  up  a  man  and  humbles  him  quicker 
than  anything.  Just  let  the  pitiless  angel  of  pain 
come  along  suddenly  and  seize  him  by  some  vital 
part  and  twist  him  around  a  time  or  two  and  shake 
him  up,  and  he  will  know  better  what  the  word  tor 
ture  means  when  he  reads  it  in  a  book.  I  thought 
I  was  a  strong  man  and  tough,  and  so  the  angel  has 
had  no  terrors  for  me.  Fve  had  the  toothache  and 
mashed  my  big  toe  with  a  crow-bar  and  got  around 
lively  with  a  green-corn  dance,  but  after  it  was  over 
I  forgot  the  sting  of  it  and  only  remembered  the  joke. 
But  there  are  some  things  without  any  joke,  and  that 
won't  let  you  forget  'em,  and  when  they  come  and 
go  they  leave  you  humbled  and  hacked  and  as  meek 
as  a  lamb  with  his  legs  tied.  They  take  away  your 


96  BILL  AEP. 

pride,  and  your  brag  and  your  starch,  and  stiffening. 
They  strip  you  of  flowers  and  frills  and  thread  lace 
and  jewelry,  and  leave  a  poor  mortal  like  a  depend 
ent  beggar  for  the  charity  of  health,  good  health.  ' '  If 
I  was  only  well  again, "  the  poor  victim  sighs:  "Oh, 
if  I  was  only  well  again. ' ' 

When  a  man  gets  along  to  my  age  he  forgets  that 
he  is  on  the  down  grade ;  that  he  is  like  a  second-hand 
wagon  patched  up  and  painted  and  sold  at  auction  to 
the  highest  bidder.  It  will  run  mighty  well  on  a 
smooth  road  and  a  light  load  and  a  careful  driver, 
but  it  won't  do  to  lock  wheels  with  another,  or  run 
into  a  gully,  or  over  stumps,  or  up  to  the  hubs  in  the 
low  grounds.  A  man  is  very  much  like  a  wagon,  any 
how,  for  his  shoulders  and  hips  are  the  axle-trees  and 
his  arms  and  legs  are  the  wheels  and  the  wagon-body 
is  his  body  and  the  coupling-pole  is  his  spine  and  the 
hounds  are  his  kidneys— his  reins,  as  the  Scriptures 
call  'em— and  they  brace  up  everything  and  hold  up 
the  tongue  and  the  coupling-pole,  and  if  the  hounds 
are  weak  and  rickety  the  hind  wheels  don't  track  with 
the  fore  wheels,  and  the  whole  concern  moves  along 
with  a  hitch  and  a  jerk  and  a  double  wabble.  "He 
tryeth  the  reins  of  the  children  of  men,"  for  that  was 
the  test  of  a  man.  If  the  kidneys  were  sound  and 
well  ordered  the  man  was  right  before  the  Lord,  for 
in  them  was  supposed  to  be  centered  the  affections 
and  passions  and  emotions  of  a  man.  Those  old- 
time  philosophers  attached  a  good  deal  of  import 
ance  to  the  kidneys,  but  I  thought  it  was  a  super 
stition  of  their  ignorance,  and  I  never  cared  much 
about  my  kidneys.  In  fact,  I  didn't  care  whether  I 
had  any  kidneys  or  not,  for  I  was  thinking  what 
Judge  Underwood  told  me  a  long  time  ago  about  the 
spleen,  which  he  said  was  only  put  there  to  make 


FAVORITE    SEAT    ON     FRONT    PIAZZA,    WHERE    ALL    COMERS 
WERE    CORDIALLY    WELCOMED. 


~  **'  *     *  ''     r>      *f  f   **      •*      '  r     *  ««"*,>  * 

r'      r    »  •  C     •     *  ".          ,    • 


BILL    AKP.  97 

men  splenetic  and  cross,  and  keep  'em  from  getting 
overjoyful  in  this  subloonary  world.  I  thought 
that  maybe  the  kidneys  were  like  the  liver  of  a  man 
over  in  California,  which  was  crushed  out  of  him 
in  a  mine  some  fifty  years  ago,  when  he  was  about 
fifty  years  old,  but  he  was  sewed  up  and  got  well, 
and  he  is  a  hundred  years  old  and  not  a  hair  turned 
grey,  nor  a  wrinkle  come,  nor  his  eyes  grown  dim, 
nor  his  teeth  come  out,  and  he  keeps  well  and  souncl 
and  plump  and  active,  and  goes  to  balls,  and  never 
has  an  ache  or  a  pain,  and  its  all  because  his  liver 
is  gone.  Jesso. 

Well,  you  see  I  had  promised  to  build  a  dam 
across  the  branch  down  in  the  willow  thicket  and 
make  a  bathing  pool  for  the  children;  and  so  a  few 
days  ago  I  went  at  it  with  a  will,  and  got  my  timbers 
across  and  my  boards  nailed  on  slanting  up  the 
stream  to  a  rock  bottom,  and  then  I  put  on  some  old 
boots  and  went  to  chinkin'  up  the  leaks  with  turf  and 
gravel  and  willow  brush  and  sand  bags,  and  as  fast 
as  I  stopped  one  leak  another  broke  out;  but  I 
worked  fast  and  worked  hard,  and  the  children 
waited  on  me  and  brought  me  material,  and  after  a 
while  the  water  began  to  rise  on  me,  and  got  higher 
till  it  went  over  the  dam.  It  was  then  about  noon, 
and  the  hot  sun  was  blistering  down  and  the  cold 
spring  water  was  chilling  me  up,  and  I  begun  to  feel 
age  and  infirmity ;  so  I  took  a  bath  myself,  and  put  on 
dry  clothes  and  retired  to  rest  from  my  labors.  That 
evening  I  listened  to  the  shouts  of  happy  children  as 
they  frolicked  in  the  pool,  and  I  rejoiced,  for  it  al 
ways  makes  me  happy  to  see  them  happy.  The  next 
day  I  dident  get  up  well,  and  I  was  a  knockin'  around 
in  my  garden,  a  holdin'  up  my  back,  shore  enough, 

(7) 


98  BILL    AKP. 

without  any  warning  the  unfeelin'  angel  of  pain 
come  along  suddenly  and  snapped  me  up  by  the  left 
kidney  like  he  wanted  to  wrestle,  and  took  an  under- 
holt,  and  he  spun  me  around  with  such  a  jerk  I 
almost  lost  my  breath  with  agony,  and  he  pummeled 
me  and  humped  me  all  the  way  to  the  house,  and 
threw  me  on  the  bed  while  I  hollered.  "What 
in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you,  William  ?"  says 
my  wife,  Mrs.  Arp,  says  she  to  me ;  and  the  children 
all  gathered  around  and  thought  I  was  snake  bit. 
"I've  got  a  turrible  pain  round  here."  says  I;  "tur- 
rible,  turrible.  Oh.  Lordy!"  They  filled  up  the 
stove  in  a  hurry,  and  brought  water ;  and  they  gave 
me  camphor,  and  paregoric,  and  one  thing  and 
another;  but  I  got  worse,  and  groaned  and  grunted 
amazingly,  for  I  tell  you  I  was  sufferin'. 

"I  expected  it!  I  expected  it!"  says  Mrs.  Arp, 
as  she  moved  round  lively.  "I  just  knew  some 
trouble  would  come  from  all  that  dam  business  of 
yesterday."  My  stomach  had  suddenly  gone  out 
of  order— I  don't  know  how— for  everything  they 
give  me  come  up  before  it  was  down;  and  so  they 
tried  salts  and  quinine  and  hot  water  and  pain 
killer,  and  morphine  and  magnum  bonum,  and 
everything  in  the  house,  but  nothing  would  stick, 
and  at  last  the  pain  left  just  as  suddenly  as  it  came 
on,  and  I  went  to  sleep.  But  my  system  was  all  out 
of  order;  the  machinery  wouldn't  work  nowhere. 
The  cold  sweat  poured  from  me  all  night,  and  I 
dreamed  I  was  away  off  in  a  wet  prairie,  lying  down 
in  the  cold  grass,  hiding  from  a  herd  of  buffaloes, 
and  I  woke  up  with  a  shaking  ague  and  had  to  have 
my  night  clothes  changed  and  dried  like  a  race  horse. 

The  morning  brought  another  attack  worse  than 
the  first,  but  the  good  Dr.  Kirkpatrick  came  in  time 


BILL   ARP.  99 

and  put  me  on  morphine  and  spirits  of  nitre,  a  hot 
bath  and  shortened  up  the  time,  and  told  me  my 
trouble  was  in  the  kidneys,  and  what  was  going  on. 
ble,  and  could  look  around  on  my  wife  and  children 
and  when  he  left  me  I  was  easy  and  meek  and  hum 
ble.,  and  could  look  around  on  my  wife  and  chldren 
like  nobody  was  a  sinner  but  me.  When  I  was 
awake  I  could  look  up  at  the  old  whitewash  that  was 
peeling  off  from  the  ceiling,  and  see  all  sorts  of  pic 
tures  I  never  saw  before.  They  took  shapes  innu 
merable,  for  there  were  monkeys  and  camels,  and 
bears  and  buzzards,  and  turtles,  and  big  Injuns,  and 
little  Frenchmen,  and  old  witches,  and  anacondas 
and  other  menagerie  animals  all  out  of  shape,  and 
funny  and  fantastic;  and  while  I  was  asleep  I 
dreamed  ridiculous  dreams,  and  the  quinin^  that 
was  in  me  made  me  to  hear  waterfalls  and  mill- 
dams,  and  once  I  imagined  the  dam  I  had  built  had 
grown  and  swelled  until  Niagara  was  but  a  circum 
stance  compared  to  it.  But  alas,  there  is  no  rest 
for  the  wicked,  for  although  I  had  escaped  for  a  day 
and  night,  and  was  banking  upon  bright  hopes  and 
returning  health,  the  unfeeling  angel  came  along 
again,  and  seeing  me  recovering  from  the  fight, 
began  on  me  with  a  second  assault,  and  beat  up  my 
left  kidney  again  till  it  was  in  a  jelly  and  as  sore 
and  sensitive  as  a  carbuncle.  While  he  was  beating 
me  I  seemed  to  hear  him  say,  "  You  didn't  know  you 
had  kidneys,  did  you?"  " About  a  dozen,"  said  I; 
' '  eight  or  ten  anyhow,  and  they  are  as  big  and  heavy 
as  shot  bags."  The  fact  is  that  my  left  side  was  so 
sore  and  I  was  so  nervous  that  it  almost  gave  me  a 
spasm  to  think  of  anybody  touching  me  there  with 
a  stick.  But  the  torture  all  of  a  sudden  left  me,  as 
suddenly  as  it  came,  and  the  breath,  good  and  free, 


100  BILL    ARP. 

could  get  way  once  more.  But  now  I  think  I  am 
all  safe,  and  Eichard  is  himself  again.  Good  nurs 
ing  and  the  doctor's  skill  and  patience  has  got  the 
wagon  in  traveling  condition,  and  now  I  think  I  will 
make  friends  with  my  kidneys  and  a  treaty  of  peace 
with  the  angel,  and  the  treaty  is  that  I  am  to  build 
no  more  dams  during  life,  if  I  have  to  wade  in  the 
water  to  do  it. 


BILL    ARP.  101 


CHAPTER  XII. 


LOVE  AFFAIBS. 

Married  and  gone.  It  is  the  same  old  story.  Love 
and  courtship.  Then  comes  the  engagement  ring  and 
a  blessed  interval  of  fond  hopes  and  happy  dreams, 
and  then  the  happy  day  is  fixed— the  auspicious  day 
that  is  never  to  be  forgotten— a  day  that  brings  hap 
piness  or  misery  and  begins  a  new  life.  Then  comes 
the  license,  the  permit  of  the  law  which  says  you  may 
marry,  you  may  enter  into  bonds.  The  State  ap 
proves  it  and  the  law  allows  it,  and  it  will  cost  you 
only  a  dollar  and  a  quarter.  Cheap,  isn't  it?  And 
yet  it  may  be  very  dear.  Then  comes  the  minister, 
and  the  happy  pair  stand  up  before  him  and  make 
some  solemn  vows  and  listen  to  a  prayer  and  a  bene 
diction,  and  they  are  one.  In  a  moment  the  trusting 
maid  has  lost  her  name  and  her  free  will,  and  is  tied 
fast  to  a  man.  Well,  he  is  tied  fast,  too,  so  it  is  all 
right  all  around,  I  reckon ;  but  somehow  I  always  feel 
more  concern  about  the  woman  than  the  man.  She  is 
a  helpless  sort  of  a  creature  and  takes  the  most  risk, 
for  she  risks  her  all. 

We  gave  him  a  cordial  welcome  into  the  family, 
and  we  kissed  her  lovingly  and  bade  them  good-bye, 
and  the  children  threw  a  shower  of  rice  over  them 
and  an  old  shoe  after  them,  and  they  were  soon  on 
their  way  to  the  land  of  flowers.  She  was  not  our 
child,  but  was  almost,  for  Mrs.  Arp  was  the  only 
mother  she  ever  knew,  and  we  loved  her. 

I  sat  in  my  piazza  ruminating  over  the  scene,  and 


102  BILL   AKP. 

I  wondered  that  there  was  as  many  happy  matings  as 
there  seem  to  be.  Partners  for  life  ought  to  be  con 
genial  and  harmonious  in  so  many  things.  When 
•men* make' a  partnership  in  business  they  can't  get 
along  well  if  they  are  unlike  in  disposition  or  in 
inoral  principles,  or  in  business  ways  and  business 
habits.  But  they  can  dissolve  and  separate  at  pleas 
ure  and  try  another  man. 

A  man  and  his  wife  ought  to  be  alike  in  almost 
everything.  It  is  said  that  folks  like  their  opposite, 
their  counterparts,  and  so  they  do  in  some  respects. 
A  man  with  blue  eyes  goes  mighty  nigh  distracted 
over  a  woman  with  hazel  eyes.  I  did,  and  I'm  dis 
tracted  yet  whenever  I  look  into  them.  But  in  men 
tal  qualities  and  emotional  qualities  and  tastes  and 
habits  and  principles  and  convictions  and  the  like, 
they  ought  to  class  together.  Indeed,  it  is  better  for 
them  to  have  the  same  politics  and  the  same  religion. 
And  so  I  have  observed  that  the  happiest  unions,  as 
a  general  thing,  are  those  where  the  high  contracting 
parties  have  known  each  other  for  a  long  time,  and 
have  assimilated  from  their  youth  in  thought  and 
feeling.  "When  a  man  goes  off  to  some  watering  place 
and  waltzes  a  few  times  with  a  charming  girl  and 
falls  desperately  in  love  and  marries  her  off  hand, 
it  is  a  long  shoot  and  a  narrow  chance  for  happiness. 
Why,  we  may  live  in  the  same  town  with  people  and 
not  know  as  much  about  them  as  we  ought  to.  I 
never  made  any  mistake  about  my  choice  of  a  part 
ner  for  the  dance  of  life,  but  I've  thought  of  it  a 
thousand  times  that  if  Mrs.  Arp  had  known  I  loved 
codfish  and  got  up  by  daybreak  every  morning,  she 
never  would  have  had  me.  It  was  nip  and  tuck  to 
get  her  anyhow,  and  that  would  have  been  the  feather 
to  break  the  camel's  back.  Well,  I'm  mortal  glad 


BILL    ARP.  103 

she  didn't  know  it,  though  I  am  free  to  say  that  if 
I  had  known  she  slept  until  the  second  ringing  of 
the  first  bell  for  breakfast  and  was  fond  of  raw  oys 
ters,  it  would  have  had  a  dampening  effect  upon  my 
ardor  for  a  few  minutes,  only  a  few.  But  I  have 
seen  some  mighty  clever  people  eat  oysters  raw  and 
sleep  late  in  the  morning  But  still  a  man  and  his 
wife  can  harmonize  and  compromise  a  good  many 
of  these  things,  and  it  is  a  beautiful  illustration  of 
this  to  see  Mrs  Arp  cooking  codfish  for  me  and  fixing 
it  all  up  so  nice  with  eggs  and  cream;  and  it  is  a 
touching  evidence  of  my  undying  devotion  to  her, 
to  see  me  wandering  around  the  house  lonely  and 
forlorn  every  morning  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  for 
bidding  even  the  cat  to  walk  heavy  while  she  sleeps. 
That  codfish  business  comes  to  me  honestly  from  my 
father's  side,  and  my  mother  put  up  with  it  like  a 
good,  considerate  wife,  and  we  children  grew  up 
with  an  idea  that  it  was  good.  I've  heard  of  a 
young  couple  who  got  married  and  went  off  to 
Augusta  on  a  tour,  and  the  feller  stuck  his  fork  into 
a  codfish  ball  and  took  a  bite.  He  choked  it  down 
like  a  hero,  and  when  his  beloved  asked  him  what 
was  the  matter,  replied :  " Don't  say  anything  about 
it,  Mandy,  but  as  sure  as  you  are  born  there  is  some 
thing  dead  in  the  bread." 

Well,  we  can  make  compromises  about  all  such 
things  as  habits  and  tastes,  but  there  are  some  things 
that  won't  compromise  worth  a  cent.  If  a  girl  has 
been  brought  up  to  have  a  good  deal  of  freedom,  and 
thinks  it  no  harm  to  go  waltzing  around  with  every 
gay  Lothario  who  loves  to  dance,  and  after  she  gets 
a  feller  of  her  own,  wants  to  keep  at  it  and  have  pol 
luted  arms  around  her  waist,  she  had  just  as  well 
sing  farewell  to  conjugal  love  and  domestic  peace, 


104  BILL   AKP. 

for  it  is  against  the  order  of  nature  for  a  loving  hus 
band  to  stand  it,  and  he  oughn't.  There  is  another 
thing  that  ought  to  be  considered,  and  that  is  age. 
A  few  years  makes  no  difference,  but  an  old  man  had 
better  be  careful  about  marrying  a  young  wife.  He 
won't  be  happy  but  about  two  weeks,  and  then  his 
misery  will  begin  and  it  will  never  end.  It  may  be 
better  for  a  woman  to  be  an  old  man's  darling  than 
a  young  man's  slave,  but  she  had  better  be  neither. 
When  a  young  girl  marries  an  old  man  for  his  money 
she  has  gone  back  on  herself,  for  money  don't  bring 
happiness.  Money  helps,  but  money  with  a  dead 
weight  is  a  curse— an  aggravation.  I  was  talking  one 
day  to  an  old  man,  a  Frenchman,  who  had  made  a 
hermit  of  himself,  and  was  living  all  alone  in  the 
woods,  and  he  said:  "Mine  frien',  I  have  made  one 
grand  meestake.  My  first  wife  whom  I  marry  ven  I 
vos  young  vas  an  angel  from  heaven,  God  bless  her, 
but  mine  last  wife  she  did  not  come  from  dere 
she  come  dis  vay"— and  he  pointed  downwards.  "I 
vas  old  and  she  vas  young.  I  had  money  and  she 
had  none.  I  marry  her  in  haste  and  repent  at  my 
leisure.  I  try  to  live  wid  her  tree  years,  but  we  were 
not  compatible.  It  was  against  the  order  of  nature 
and  I  found  myself  a  fool  and  a  prisoner,  and  so  I 
geeve  her  half  my  monies  and  run  away  from  her 
and  hide  in  dis  vilderness,  and  here  vill  I  live  and 
here  vill  I  die,  and  ven  I  go  oop  to  St.  Peter  and 
tell  heem  how  dat  voman  trouble  me  on  earth,  de 
good  man  will  open  de  garden  gate  and  say,  come  in, 
my  brother,  for  you  have  had  trouble  enough. ' ' 

Country  marriages  are  generally  happier  than 
those  made  in  cities  among  the  families  of  the  rich. 
Children  raised  to  work  and  to  wait  on  themselves 


BILL    ARP.  105 

make  better  husband  and  better  wives  than  those 
raised  in  luxury.  It  is  mighty  hard  for  a  man  to 
please  his  wife  and  keep  her  in  good  humor  if  she 
has  been  petted  by  her  parents  and  never  knew  a 
want  and  had  no  useful  work  to  do.  She  soon  takes 
the  ennui  or  the  conniptions  or  the  " don't  know  what 
I  want/'  and  must  go  back  to  ma.  A  young  lady 
who  never  did  anything  after  she  quit  school  but 
dress  for  company  and  make  visits  and  go  to  the 
theatre  or  the  dance,  will  never  make  a  good  wife. 
This  wife  business  is  a  very  serious  business.  It  is 
right  hard  work  to  play  wife.  The  mother  of  six, 
eight  or  ten  children  has  seen  sights.  She  knows 
what  care  is  and  work  is,  and  one  of  these  do-nothing 
women  can't  stand  it.  If  she  is  a  used  up  institution 
with  one  child,  two  will  finish  her,  and  if  it  wasn't  for 
condensed  milk  the  children  would  perish  to  death 
in  a  month  after  they  were  born,  and  be  sorter  like 
the  cows  in  Florida.  I  heard  a  Florida  man  say  the 
other  day  that  a  Florida  cow  dident  give  enough  milk 
to  color  the  coffee  for  breakfast,  and  they  had  to 
raise  the  calves  on  the  bottle.  Getting  married  ought 
to  be  a  considerate  business.  Folks  oughtn't  to  get 
married  in  a  hurry;  neither  ought  they  to  wait  four 
or  five  years.  Six  months  is  long  enough  for  an 
engagement.  I  don't  mean  children;  I  mean  grown 
folks  who  have  settled  down  in  life  and  know  what 
they  are  about.  There  is  no  goodlier  sight  in  all 
nature  than  to  see  a  good-looking,  healthy  young 
man,  who  is  making  an  honest  living,  standing  up  at 
the  altar  with  a  pure,  sweet,  good-tempered,  affec 
tionate,  industrious  girl,  and  the  parents  on  both 
sides  approving  the  match.  Then  the  big  pot  ought 
to  be  put  in  the  little  pot,  and  everybody  rejoice. 


106  BILL    ARP. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


TELLS  OF  His  WIFE'S  BIRTHDAY. 

It  is  impossible  for  a  man  or  a  woman  either  to 
be  calm  and  serene  when  surprised  by  awful  and  ter 
rible  things,  unless  they  are  always  prepared  for  'em, 
which  they  ain't.  I  have  been  wanting  to  see  some 
big  things  all  my  life,  but  I  wanted  to  be  in  a  safe 
place  while  it  happened,  and  at  a  very  respectable 
distance.  I  would  have  liked  to  have  been  there  when 
Vesuvius  run  over  and  swallowed  up  Herculaneum 
and  Pompeii,  and  I  want  to  feel  the  shake  of  a  big 
earthquake  a  mile  or  two  away  from  the  crack.  I 
would  enjoy  a  storm  at  sea  and  a  genuine  shipwreck 
if  I  knew  we  were  to  strike  some  rock  not  far  from 
shore  and  eventually  be  saved.  I've  been  reading 
every  now  and  then  about  those  awful  storms  and 
winds  that  of  late  years  have  been  perusing  the  coun 
try  below  us  and  blowing  wagons  up  in  the  tree  tops 
and  shingles  through  solid  oak  trees  and  carrying 
houses  away  and  twisting  off  timber  like  it  was  wheat 
straw,  and  I  thought  I  would  like  to  see  a  young 
cyclone  meandering  around,  just  to  get  the  hang  of 
the  thing,  and  shore  enough  a  little  one  come  along 
here  last  Sunday  and  made  a  call  without  any  premo 
nition,  and  now  I'm  satisfied,  and  don't  hanker  after 
any  more  such  visitations.  We  were  sitting  on  the 
piazza  watching  the  black  clouds  as  they  loomed  up 
in  the  west,  and  listening  to  the  rumbling  thunder, 
when  suddenly  the  roar  of  coming  winds  was  heard,, 
and  the  storm  came  in  sight  over  the  brow  of  Mun- 


BILL    AKP.  107 

ford's  mountain,  and  came  down  the  valley  before 
us  with,  the  big  drops  of  rain  in  front,  and  then  the 
hail  following  after,  and  the  wind  like  a  tornado. 
We  hurried  down  the  window  sash  and  took  in  the 
chairs,  and  before  we  knew  it  it  took  two  of  us  to 
shut  the  front  door,  and  so  we  retreated  to  the  back 
piazza,  and  by  the  time  we  got  there  the  roof  was  rat 
tling  like  a  million  buck-shot  was  being  poured  on  it 
from  a  big  dump-cart  away  up  yonder,  and  it  cov 
ered  the  ground  and  banked  up  in  the  back  yard 
about  three  inches  deep,  and  while  we  were  all  a 
wondering  what  the  thing  would  do  next,  the  wind 
shifted  around  and  around  and  come  from  the  east 
as  hard  as  it  did  from  the  west,  and  pretty  soon  it 
was  coming  from  all  points  of  the  compass  and  every 
where  else  all  at  once,  and  slammed  all  the  doors  and 
twisted  the  tree  tops  around  and  around,  and  I  was 
a-fixing  to  move  the  family  down  in  the  basement, 
when  suddenly  my  wife,  Mrs.  Arp,  says  she  to  me, 
" Where  is  Carl  and  where  is  Kalph?"  "They  are 
down  in  the  barn,"  said  I,  calmly;  "they  are  all  safe, 
for  the  barn  is  under  the  hill. "  "  Merciful  heavens, ' ' 
she  said,  "I  know  something  will  happen  to  'em.  You 
must  go  after  'em."  So  I  put  on  the  oilcloth  and 
fooled  round  for  an  umbrel  and  couldn't  find  one, 
and  it  wouldn't  have  been  any  more  than  a  fly  in  a 
hurricane,  no  how,  and  I  heard  the  limbs  a-popping 
and  saw  the  trees  a-bending,  and  the  hail  was  getting 
bigger  and  more  thicker  and  more  denser,  and  1 
knowed  the  little  boys  were  safe,  and  so  I  kept  foolin' 
round  and  round  until  shore  enough  I  dident  go,  and 
Mrs.  Arp  she  calmed  down  a  little,  for  about  this  time 
the  storm  abated  a  little  and  we  could  see  the  boys 
looking  out  from  the  barn  windows.  I  ain't  tellin' 
no  lie  when  I  say  that  fall  of  rain  and  hail  dident 


108  BILL   AEP. 

last  more  than  fifteen  minutes,  but  it  raised  the 
branch  that  crosses  the  big  road  by  my  house  five 
feet  in  half  an  hour  and  spread  out  all  over  the 
meadow  and  up  and  down  the  road  for  a  hundred 
yards,  and  a  nabor  come  along  from  town  in  a  buggy 
and  had  to  swim  it,  horse  and  all,  and  he  said  the 
road  was  as  dry  as  a  powder  horn  at  Felton's  chapel, 
and  another  man  came  from  the  other  way  and  said 
it  was  all  dust  at  Bishop's,  and  this  showed  me  that 
the  storm-path  was  only  about  a  mile  wide,  and  it 
was  obliged  to  have  been  a  cyclone,  for  we  have  heard 
of  it  going  on  about  the  same  way  and  tearing  things 
up  fearfully.  One  nabor  had  a  big  tree  blown  on  his 
barn,  and  a  lad  of  a  boy  was  in  there  and  it  skeered 
him  so  he  tried  to  run  head  foremost  home,  and  the 
wind  picked  him  up  and  spun  him  round  like  a  hum- 
min'  top  and  then  laid  him  down  flat  and  told  him 
to  stay  there,  and  he  stayed.  The  oats  that  had  not 
been  harvested  looked  just  like  a  big  iron  roller  had 
been  rolled  over  'em  and  then  the  whole  concern 
ironed  out  smooth  with  a  flat  iron.  We've  been 
mighty  busy  mowing  'em  with  the  machine,  and  have 
managed  to  save  'em  pretty  well,  though  it's  right 
hard  to  tell  which  is  the  best  end  of  the  bundles.  But 
they  will  thrash  all  the  same,  and  no  loss  on  our  side. 
The  rail  fences  on  nabor  Cotton's  hill  went  to  playin' 
Jack-straws,  and  the  corn  looks  like  the  blades  had 
all  been  drawn  through  a  shuck  riddle.  Nearly  all 
my  tomatoes  have  got  a  bruise  on  'em,  and  the  grapes 
are  pretty  much  in  the  same  fix.  Squash  leaves  and 
cabbage  leaves  are  riddled  with  holes,  but  after  all 
I  can't  see  any  very  serious  damage,  and  we  are  try 
ing  to  be  calm  and  serene.  Well,  I  believe  the  cyclone 
did  sorter  surprise  two  nice  young  gentlemen  who 


BILL    AKP.  109 

were  perusing  the  girls  at  our  house,  and  when  they 
went  out  in  the  hail  to  keep  their  horse  and  buggy 
from  running  away  the  storm  got  so  bad,  and  they 
got  so  damp  and  moist  all  over,  they  had  to  go  home 
prematurely,  which  we  didn't  approve,  for  we  could 
have  made  a  fire  and  dried  'em  in  a  few  minutes,  or 
they  could  have  put  on  some  of  my  garments,  which 
would  have  been  more  than  a  foot  or  a  foot  and  a 
half  too  short  at  both  ends.  But  they  are  young  and 
hopeful,  and  went  off  down  the  road  singing  Hail 
Columbia,  happy  land,  Hail  Boreas  and  be  hanged. 

We  Ve  had  a  birthday  at  our  house.  There  are  big 
birthdays  and  little  ones,  common  ones  and  uncom 
mon  ones ;  when  the  female  patriarch  of  a  family,  the 
queen  of  the  household,  meets  her  sixtieth  birthday 
and  has  got  too  much  sense  to  go  back  on  her  age  01 
be  ashamed  of  it,  it  is  an  event,  it  is,  sorter  like  a 
golden  wedding  or  the  declaration  of  independence 
or  some  other  big  thing.  But  there  is  no  collapse,  no 
surrender,  no  let  down,  not  a  silver  thread  among  the 
raven  hair,  no  crow's  feet  or  wrinkled  brows,  no  loss 
of  speech  or  language,  no  weakness  of  memory. 
Sometimes  I  wish  she  would  forget  something,  but 
she  can't,  and  my  short-comings,  like  Banquo's 
ghost,  come  up  before  me  ever  and  anon.  So  the 
queen  had  a  birthday  dinner,  and  she  got  a  nice  new 
dress  and  a  hall  lamp  and  a  beautiful  chair  and  a 
pair  of  peafowls  wherewith  to  raise  her  own  fly 
brushes,  and  that  night  we  had  music  and  dancing 
and  song,  for  Solomon  says  old  age  is  honorable,  and 
I  never  could  see  any  good  sense  in  a  woman  or  a 
widower  trying  to  conceal  it.  I  never  expect  to  be 
either  the  one  or  the  other,  and  can't  appreciate  their 
peculiar  feelings,  but  I  never  hear  of  a  married 


110  BILL    ARP. 

woman  concealing  her  advancing  years  but  I  think 
she  is  fixing  the  triggers  for  a  second  hushand  before 
the  first  one  dies.  But  one  thing  is  certain— there's 
no  triggers  about  our  house,  and  there  will  be  no 
step-father  to  my  children,  for,  as  Mrs.  Arp  says, 
sometimes  a  burnt  child  dreads  the  fire.  Jesso. 


BILL    AKP.  HI 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 


MRS.  AEP  GOES  OFF  ON  A  VISIT. 

Man  was  not  made  to  live  alone.  I  don't  mean  like 
Eobinson  Cruso,  but  alone  in  a  house  without  a  wom 
an—a  help-mate,  a  pard.  It's  an  awful  thing  to  come 
in  and  find  the  maternal  chair  vacant,  even  for  a  sea 
son.  I  know  she  has  gone,  but  still  imagine  she  is 
somewhere  on  the  premises  a  circulatin'  around  and 
around.  I  am  listenin'  for  the  rustle  of  her  dress  or 
the  creak  of  her  nimble  shoe— she  wears  number  2's, 
with  a  high  instep,  and  walks  like  a  deer.  Ever  and 
anon  methinks  I  hear  her  accustomed  voice  saying, 
"William,  William— major,  come  here  a  moment." 

What  wonderful  resolution  some  women  have  got ! 
Mrs.  Arp  has  at  last  departed.  She  has  undertook  a 
journey.  For  several  weeks  it  has  been  the  family 
talk.  Some  said  she  would  get  off  and  some  said  she 
wouldent.  As  for  herself,  she  was  serious  and  non 
committal,  but  we  daily  observed  that  the  big  old 
trunk  that  contained  the  accumulated  fragments  of 
better  days  was  being  diligently  ransacked.  Scraps 
of  lace,  and  lawn,  and  ribbon,  and  silk,  and  velvet, 
and  muslin,  and  bumbazeen,  and  cassimere,  were 
brought  forth  and  aired,  and  the  flat  iron  kept  busy 
pressing  and  smoothing  the  wrinkles  that  age  had 
furrowed  in  them.  All  sorts  of  patterns  from  Dem- 
orest,  and  Ehrich  and  Butterick,  were  overhauled 
and  consulted  with  a  kind  of  sad  reality.  A  woman 
may  be  too  poor  to  buy  calico  at  five  cents  a  yard, 
but  she  will  have  patterns.  Little  jackets,  and  pants, 


112  BILL   ARP. 

and  shirts,  little  dresses,  and  drawers,  and  petticoats, 
and  aprons  had  to  be  made  up,  and  nobody  but  her 
knew  what  they  would  be  made  of.  I  tell  you,  one  of 
these  old-fashioned  mothers  is  a  miracle  of  grace.  It 
ain't  uncommon  for  folks  nowadays  to  be  their  own 
tailors  and  dressmakers,  but  it  takes  sense  and  genius 
to  get  up  a  respectable  outfit  from  scraps  and  old 
clothes  outgrown  or  abandoned  for  ratage  and  leak 
age.  It  was  wonderful  to  see  her  rip  'em,  and  turn 
'em,  and  cut  'em,  and  twist  'em— getting  a  piece  here 
and  a  scrap  there,  cutting  them  down  to  the  pattern 
—running  them  through  the  machine,  and  before  any 
body  knew  it  she  had  the  little  chaps  arrayed  as  fine 
as  a  band-box,  and  never  called  on  anybody  for  a 
nickel.  That's  what  I  call  the  quintessence  of  domes 
tic  economy.  Nobody  can  beat  her  in  that  line.  She 
knows  how  to  put  the  best  foot  foremost.  Her  chil 
dren  have  got  to  look  as  decent  as  other  people 's,  or 
she  will  keep  'em  at  home,  certain.  She  don't  go 
about  much,  and  seems  to  grow  closer  and  closer  to 
the  chimney  corner;  but  when  she  does  move  it's  a 
family  sensation.  Every  one  helps— every  one  ad 
vises  and  encourages  her  in  a  subdued  and  respectful 
way.  All  want  her  to  go  off  and  rest  and  have  a  good 
time  for  her  own  sake,  but  tell  her  over  and  over  how 
much  they  will  miss  her,  and  wear  a  little  shadow 
of  sorrow  in  the  nigh  side  of  the  face.  I  think  though 
she  suspected  all  the  time  they  would  turn  up  Jack 
while  she  was  away. 

Well,  she  did  get  off  at  last— on  a  three  hours' 
journey  and  to  stay  a  whole  week.  It  was  a  tremen 
dous  undertaking,  for  she  said  the  harness  might 
break,  or  the  buggy  collapse,  or  the  old  mare  run 
away  on  the  road  to  town,  and  the  cars  might  run  off 
the  track  or  break  through  a  bridge,  or  not  stop  long 


BILL    AKP.  113 

enough  for  her  to  get  off  with  the  children,  or  let  her 
off  and  take  the  children  on,  or  some  of  us  would  g^t 
sick,  or  the  house  catch  afire,  or  some  tramp  come 
along  in  the  night  and  rob  us  and  cut  all  our  throats 
while  we  were  asleep,  and  we  wouldent  know  a 
thing  about  it  till  next  morning. 

"Now,  William,"  said  she,  "be  mighty  careful  of 
everything,  for  you  know  how  poor  we  are  anyhow. ' ' 
"Poor  as  Lazarus, "  said  I,  "but  he's  a  restin'  in 
Abraham's  bosom. "  "Well,  never  mind  Lazarus, " 
said  she,  "the  paragoric  and  quinine  and  turpentine 
are  on  the  shelf  in  the  cabinet.  I  have  hid  the  lauda 
num,  for  it's  dangerous,  and  you  havent  got  more 
than  half  sense  in  the  night  time  and  might  make  a 
mistake.  Don 't  let  Ralph  have  the  gun  nor  go  to  the 
mill  pond.  There  are  four  geese  a  setting,  and  you 
must  look  after  the  goslins,  and  if  you  don't  shoot 
that  hawk  spring  chickens  will  be  mighty  scarce  on 
this  lot.  And  see  here,  William,  I  want  you  to  take 
the  beds  off  the  bedsteads  in  my  room  and  shut  the 
doors  and  windows  and  make  a  fire  of  sulphur  in 
some  old  pan.  They  say  it  will  just  kill  everything. ' ' 
"Must  I  stay  inside  or  outside,"  said  I,  in  a  Cassibi- 
anca  tone.  "Maybe  you  had  better  try  it  awhile  in 
side,"  said  she,  "just  to  see  if  you  ever  could  get 
used  to  it.  Now,  William,  take  good  care  of  every 
thing,  for  you  may  never  see  me  again.  Somehow  I 
feel  like  something  going  to  happen  to  me.  Don't 
whip  Ralph  while  I'm  gone— the  poor  boy  ain't  well 
—he  looks  right  pekid— and  when  you  whipped  Carl 
the  other  day  the  marks  were  all  over  his  little  legs. ' ' 
She  always  looks  for  marks— the  little  willows  are 
soft  as  broom  straws,  but  she  is  bound  to  find  a  faint 
streak  or  two,  and  there 's  a  tear  for  every  mark. 

(8) 


114  BILL   ARP. 

' '  William,  the  buttons  are  all  right  on  your  shirts. 
Feed  the  little  chickens  until  I  come  back.  I  think 
the  buntin'  hen  is  setting  somewhere,  and  there's  six 
eggs  in  my  drawer  that  old  Browny  laid  on  my  bed. 
If  the  children  get  sick  you  must  telegraph  me." 
"And  if  I  get  sick  myself,"  said  I,  inquiringly— 
"Why  there's  the  medicine  in  the  cabinet,"  said  she, 
"and  you  musent  forget  to  water  my  pot-plants.  I 
told  Mr.  Freeman  to  look  after  you  and  the  boys,  and 
Mrs.  Freeman  will  keep  an  eye  on  the  girls.  Goodbye. 
Don't  you  cut  the  hams.  I  want  them  for  company, 
and  don't  go  in  the  locked  pantry."  I  reckon  she 
must  have  taken  the  key  off  with  her,  for  we  can't 
find  it.  "Goodbye— take  care  of  Bows."  She  kissed 
us  all  around  and  choked  up  a  little  and  dropped  a 
few  tears  and  said  she  was  ready.  I  looked  at  the 
clock  and  told  her  we  could  barely  make  it— five 
miles  in  an  hour  and  five  minutes,  and  the  road 
muddy  and  the  mule  slow.  She  said  she  had  never 
been  left  by  the  train  in  her  life,  and  she  didn't  think 
she  would  be  too  late.  I  pressed  the  old  mule  through 
mud  and  slop,  up  hill  and  down  hill.  She  was  afraid 
of  that  mule,  and  when  I  larruped  him  she  told  me 
not  to.  Then  he  would  put  on  the  brakes,  and  she 
declared  she  would  be  left  if  I  dident  drive  faster. 
We  dident  say  much,  but  leaned  forward  and  pressed 
forward  in  solemn  energy  as  if  the  world  hung  upon 
the  crisis.  When  we  got  within  half  a  mile  of  town 
the  whistle  blowed  away  down  the  road  and  we  had  a 
slick  hill  to  clime.  I  larruped  heavily  and  clucked 
every  step  of  the  way,  and  we  made  the  trip  just  in 
time  to  be  left.  The  train  moved  off  right  before  us. 
It  didn't  seem  to  care  a  darn.  We  gazed  at  it  with 
feelings  of  sublime  despair.  Mrs.  Arp  was  looking 


BILL    ARP.  115 

dreamily  away  off  into  space  when  I  ventured  to  re 
mark,  " Shall  we  go  back?"  She  quielty  pointed  to 
the  St.  James  and  replied,  "Hotel." 

I  saw  her  and  little  Jessie  comfortably  quartered 
in  a  nice  room  with  a  cheerful  fire.  Mr.  Moss,  the 
landlord,  was  kind  and  sympathetic  and  promised 
she  should  not  be  left  by  the  morning  train,  and  so 
bidding  them  as  sad  goodbye  I  returned  to  my  bairns. 
Take  it  all  in  all  it  was  a  big  thing— a  mighty  big 
thing  at  my  house.  I'm  poking  around  now  hunting 
for  consolation.  She  knows  I'm  desolate  and  is  sor 
ter  glad  of  it.  I  know  she  is  homesick  already,  but 
she  won't  own  it.  She  would  stay  away  a  whole  year 
before  she  would  own  it.  She  wants  me  to  beg  her 
to  come  back  soon,  and  I  won't,  for  she  left  her  other 
little  darling  with  me,  and  he  will  bring  her.  I've 
half  a  mind  to  drop  her  a  postal  card  and  say : l '  Carl 
is  not  well,  but  don't  be  alarmed  about  him,"  and 
then  go  to  meet  her  on  the  first  train  that  could  bring 
her,  for  I  know  she  would  be  there.  It  does  look  like 
a  woman  with  ten  children  wouldent  be  so  foolish 
about  one  of  them,  but  there's  no  discount  on  a 
mother's  anxiety.  Her  last  command  was,  "Keep 
Carl  with  you  all  the  time,  and  tuck  the  cover  under 
him  good  at  night,  bless  his  little  heart."  I  wonder 
what  would  become  of  children  if  they  didn't  have 
a  parent  to  spur  'em  up.  In  fact,  it  takes  a  couple 
of  parents  to  keep  things  straight  at  my  house.  Yes 
terday  the  gray  mule  broke  open  the  gate  and  let  the 
cow  and  calf  together.  Carl  left  open  another  gate 
and  the  old  sow  got  in  the  garden.  Another  boy  has 
got  a  felon  on  his  finger,  and  whines  around  and  says 
his  ma  could  cure  it  if  she  was  here.  He  can't  milk 
now,  and  so  I  thought  I  would  try  it,  but  old  Bess 
wouldn't  let  nary  drop  down  for  me.  I  squeezed  and 


116  BILL,   AEP. 

pulled  and  tugged  at  her  until  she  got  mad  and  sud 
denly  lifted  her  foot  in  my  lap  and  set  it  down  in  the 
bucket,  whereupon  I  forgot  my  equilibrium,  and 
when  I  got  up  I  gave  old  Bess  a  satisfactory  kick  in 
the  side  and  departed  those  coasts  in  great  humility. 
It's  not  my  forte  to  milk  a  cow.  The  wind  blew  over 
more  trees  across  my  fences.  The  clock  run  down. 
Two  lamp  chimneys  bursted.  The  fire  popped  out 
and  burned  a  hole  in  the  carpet  while  we  were  at 
supper,  and  everything  is  going  wrong  just  because 
Mrs.  Arp's  gone. 

It's  mighty  still,  and  solemn,  and  lonely  around 
here  now.  Lonely  ain't  the  word,  nor  howlin'  wil 
derness.  There  ain't  any  word  to  express  the  gone 
ness  and  desolation  that  we  feel.  There  is  her  vacant 
chair  in  the  corner— 

Yes,  the  rocker  still  is  sitting 

Just  where  she  was  ever  knitting — 
Knitting  for  the  bairns  she  bore. 

And  now  the  room  seems  sad  and  dreary, 

And  my  soul  is  getting  weary, 
And  my  heart  is  sick  and  sore — and  so  forth. 

The  dog  goes  whining  round— the  maltese  cats  are 
mewing,  and  the  children  look  lost  and  droopy.  But 
we'll  get  over  it  in  a  day  or  two,  maybe,  and  then  for 
a  high  old  time. 


BILL   ARP.  117 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE  VOICE  OF  SPUING. 

Hark,  I  hear  a  bluebird  sing, 
And  that  's  a  sign  of  coming  spring. 
The  bull-frog  bellers  in  the  ditches, 
He's  throwed  away  his  winter  breeches. 
The  robbin  is  bobbin'  around  so  merry, 
I  reckon  he's  drunk  on  a  China  berry. 
The  hawk  for  infant  chickens  watcheth, 
And   'fore  you  know  it  one  he  cotcheth. 
The  lizzard  is  sunning  himself  on  a  rail; 
The  lamb  is  shaking  his  newborn  tail. 
The  darkey  is  plowing  his  stubborn  mule, 
And  gaily  hollers,  "Gee,  you  fool." 
King  Cotton  has  unfurled  his  banner, 
And  scents  the  air  with  sweet  guanner. 
The  day  grows  long — the  night's  declining, 
The  Indian  summer 's  sun  is  shining ; 
The  smoking  hills  are  now  on  fire, 
And  every  night  it 's  climbing  higher. 
The  water  warm,  the  weather  fine, 
The  time  has  come  for  hook  and  line; 
Adown  the  creek,  around  the  ponds, 
Are  gentlemen  and  vagabonds. 
And  all  our  little  dirty  sinners 
Are  digging  bait  and  catching  minners. 
The  dogwood  buds  are  now  a-swelling, 
And  yaller  jonquills  sweet  are  smelling; 
The  little  busy  bees  are  humming, 
And  every  thing  says  spring  is  coming. 

It  has  been  a  hard  old  winter  on  man  and  beast; 
hard  in  weather  and  harder  in  fire  and  flood  and  pes 
tilence  and  all  sorts  of  unnatural  troubles.  The  hor 
rors  of  hotels  burning  up,  and  theatres  and  circuses 
shrouded  in  flames,  and  thousands  of  poor  people 


118  BILL   ARP. 

made  homeless  and  destitute  by  the  raging  waters, 
and  smallpox  marking  its  victims  all  over  the  land, 
is  pitiful,  most  pitiful;  but  I  can't  get  over  the  shock 
of  those  poor  little  children  who  were  trampled  to 
death  in  that  school-room  in  New  York  City.  I  can't 
help  seeing  them  all  laid  out  in  the  room  together, 
and  their  parents  hovering  over  their  little  disfigured 
and  mangled  corpses.  The  distressing  scene  haunts 
me.  There  is  a  power  of  trouble  in  the  world  that 
we  know  nothing  about— trouble  that  we  who  live  in 
the  country  do  not  have.  Here  there  are  no  storms, 
no  floods,  no  fires,  no  pestilence,  no  scarcity  of  wood, 
or  of  food  or  comfortable  clothing.  A  poor  man  in 
the  country  is  safer  from  all  calamity  than  a  rich 
one  in  the  city.  A  poor  man  may  lament  his  poverty 
and  envy  the  rich,  but  he  has  no  reason  to.  A  man 
who  makes  a  comfortable  living  on  a  farm  has  a 
greater  security  for  life  and  liberty  and  happiness 
and  long  life  than  any  other  class  that  I  know  of. 
Cobe  says  he  is  getting  along  ' '  tolerable  well,  I  thank 
you."  Cobe  is  always  calm  and  serene.  He  owns  a 
mouse-colored  mule,  and  has  owned  him  ever  since 
the  war.  That  mule  is  one  of  the  family  and  he 
knows  it.  The  children  play  under  him  and  over 
him,  and  between  his  legs,  and  the  mule  is  happy  too. 
Cobe  has  a  chunk  of  a  cow,  and  a  sow  and  pigs,  and 
about  enough  old  rickety  furniture  to  move  in  one 
wagon  load,  and  that's  all  Cobe  has  got  except  his 
wife  and  half  a  dozen  little  children,  who  live  on  corn 
bread  and  taters.  And  they  are  smart  children,  and 
healthy  and  good  looking,  though  Cobe  is  called  the 
ugliest  man  in  the  county,  and  I  think  enjoys  his 
reputation.  His  face  is  of  three  colors  and  splotched 
about,  and  his  mouth  is  in  a  twist  one  way  and  his 


BILL   AKP.  119 

nose  in  another,  and  his  eyes  are  of  a  different  color, 
and  he  is  hump-shouldered  and  walks  pigeon-toed, 
but  he  don't  care.  His  wife  says  he  is  just  the  best 
little  man  in  the  world.  He  works  hard,  he  and  the 
mule,  and  always  says  he  is  getting  along  "tolable," 
and  finds  no  more  trouble  in  supporting  six  children 
than  he  did  one.  He  says  there  never  was  a  'possum 
born  that  dident  find  a  'simmon  tree  somewhere. 
Says  he  is  raising  his  boys  more  for  endurance  than 
for  show— for  another  war  will  come  along  about 
their  time  of  day  and  he  wants  'em  to  be  able  to 
stand  it.  Cobe  is  an  honest  man,  and  came  from  an 
honest  family,  and  his  wife  did  too,  and  their  chil 
dren  are  well-mannered,  and  they  are  getting  a  little 
schooling,  and  my  opinion  is  that  there  is  more  hope 
and  better  hope  for  the  country  in  that  kind  of  stock 
than  in  the  average  children  of  the  rich.  They  will 
make  good,  humble,  law-abiding  citizens,  and  they 
will  work  and  produce  something.  When  war  or 
trouble  comes,  it  is  the  yeomanry  of  the  land  we  have 
to  depend  on.  The  children  of  the  poor  are  running 
this  Southern  country  now.  They  are  the  foremost 
men  in  most  everything.  They  are  the  best  mer 
chants  in  Atlanta  and  other  cities— the  best  farmers, 
the  best  mechanics,  and  the  best  railroad  men. 
Some  of  'em  make  splendid  bankers,  if  they  do  spell 
hog  with  a  double  g.  Grammar  may  deceive,  but 
figures  don't  lie. 

We  are  all  mighty  busy  now  in  these  parts.  I  can 
sit  in  my  piazza  and  see  over  a  good  deal  of  farming 
territory,  and  the  mules  are  moving  up  lively.  They 
seem  to  know  the  spring  is  late  and  the  farmers  are 
behind  time.  But  I  don't  sit  long  at  a  time,  for  the 
garden  is  to  plant,  and  the  rose  bushes  have  to  be 


120  BILL   AEP. 

trimmed,  and  the  flower  beds  dressed  off,  and  the 
compost  scattered  around,  and  the  vines  want  new 
trellaces  and  everything  got  ready  for  a  new  suit  of 
clothes.  The  old  year  is  just  now  dead,  and  the  new 
one  is  born  with  the  spring.  March  used  to  be  the 
first  month  and  it  ought  to  be  now.  I  don't  see  what 
they  ever  changed  it  for.  One  hundred  and  twenty 
years  ago  our  English  forefathers  took  a  notion  to 
set  old  Father  Time  back  a  couple  of  months,  without 
any  good  reason  for  it,  and  I  think  we  ought  to  move 
up  the  clock  and  put  him  forward  where  he  was. 
The  spring  is  the  new  birth  of  nature,  and  is  the 
type  of  our  own  resurrection.  I  don't  believe  that 
everything  that  dies  will  live  again,  but  I  do  believe 
that  everything  that  is  good  and  beautiful  will,  even 
to  animals,  trees  and  flowers.  This  is  a  mighty 
pretty  world  we  live  in— mighty  pretty,  especially  in 
the  spring,  and  for  fear  of  accidents  I  am  willing  to 
be  a  tenant  a  good  while  longer. 

"I  would  not  live  always, 
I  ask  not  to  stay, " 

is  a  very  beautiful  sentiment,  provided  a  man  is  sure 
of  a  better  home  when  he  quits  this  one.  But  an 
other  poet  sung  with  more  caution  and  content  when 
he  said : 

( '  This  world  is  very  lovely — oh,  my  God, 
I  thank  thee  that  I  live.'* 

I  reckon  the  majority  of  mankind  are  like  the  fel 
low  who  said  he  dident  want  to  go  to  heaven  if  he 
had  to  die  to  get  there.  Many  would  like  for  the 
ages  of  Adam  and  Methuselah  to  come  back  again. 
It  wouldent  do,  though— it  wouldent  do  at  all,  for  if 


BILL   AEP.  121 

Jay  Gould  and  Vanderbilt  and  company  should  live 
a  thousand  years  they  would  gobble  up  the  whole 
terrestial  concern  and  crown  us  all  off  onto  a  plank 
in  the  ocean.  On  the  whole,  I'm  obliged  to  think 
that  everything  is  fixed  up  about  right— I  reckon 
it  is. 


122  BILL   AKP. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE  SOUNDS  ON  THE  FKONT  PIAZZA. 

It  was  after  midnight.  About  the  time  when  deep 
sleep  f alleth  upon  man,  but  not  upon  woman,  for  Mrs. 
Arp's  ears  were  always  awake,  it  seems  to  me.  I 
felt  a  gentle  dig  in  my  side  from  an  elbow  and  a  whis 
pered  voice  said:  "William,  William,  don't  you  hear 
that?"  "What  is  it!"  said  I.  "Somebody  is  in  the 
front  piazza,"  she  said.  "Don't  you  hear  him  rock 
ing  in  the  rocking  chair?"  And  sure  enough  I  did. 
The  chair  would  rock  awhile,  and  then  stop,  and  then 
rock  again.  "Is  the  gun  loaded?"  she  said;  "they 
are  robbers,  but  don't  shoot,  don't  make  a  noise; 
can't  you  peep  out  of  the  window?  Mercy  on  us, 
what  do  they  want  to  rob  us  for  ?  Maybe  they  come 
to  steal  one  of  the  children.  Slip  in  the  little  room 
and  see  if  Carl  is  in  his  bed.  Don't  stumble  over  a 
chair,  maybe  somebody  is  under  the  bed."  The 
rocker  took  a  new  start  and  I  had  another  dig  in  my 
side.  "  It  is  the  wind, ' '  said  I.  ' i  No,  it  is  not, ' '  said 
she.  "There  is  no  wind,  the  window  is  up,  and  the 
curtain  don't  move.  They  are  robbers,  I  tell  you. 
Hadn't  you  better  give  them  some  money  and  tell 
them  to  go?"  "I  havn't  got  any  money;"  said  I. 
"It's  all  gone."  "Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,"  said 
she.  '  '  William  get  your  gun  and  be  ready. ' ' 

I  gently  slipped  out  of  bed  and  tiptoed  to  the  win 
dow  and  cautiously  peeped  out,  and  there  was  the 
pointer  puppy  sitting  straight  up  in  my  wife's  rock- 
ing  chair,  and  ever  and  anon  he  would  lean  forward 


BILL    ARP.  123 

and  backwards  and  put  it  in  motion.  I  whispered  to 
Mrs.  Arp  to  come  and  see  the  four-legged  robber, 
which  she  did,  and  in  due  time  all  was  calm  and 
serene. 

Last  night  there  was  another  sensation  in  the  back 
piazza,  and  it  was  sure  enough  feet  this  time,  for  they 
made  a  racket  on  the  floor  and  moved  around  lively, 
and  the  elbow  digs  in  my  side  came  thick  and  fast; 
took  me  a  minute  to  get  fairly  awake,  and  after  listen 
ing  awhile  I  exclaimed  in  audible  language,  "  goats, 
CarPs  goats, "  and  I  gathered  a  broom  and  mauled 
them  down  the  back  steps.  "I  told  you,  my  dear,  ' 
said  I  "that  those  goats  would  give  us  trouble,  but 
I  can  stand  it  if  you  can. ' ' 

Carl  and  Jessie  have  been  begging  for  goats  a  good 
while  and  I  was  hostile,  very  hostile  to  goats,  for  I 
knew  how  much  devilment  they  would  do;  but  the 
little  chaps  slipped  up  on  the  weak  side  of  their  moth 
er,  and  she  finally  hinted  that  children  were  children ; 
that  old  folks  had  their  dotage  and  children  had  their 
goatage  and  her  little  brothers  used  to  have  goats, 
and  so  the  pair  of  goats  were  bought  and  Ealph 
worked  two  days  making  a  wagon,  and  contrived 
some  harness  out  of  old  bridle-reins  and  plow  lines, 
and  it  took  all  hands  to  gear  'em  up,  and  at  the  first 
crack  of  the  whip  they  bounced  three  feet  in  the  air, 
and  kept  on  bouncing,  and  jerked  Carl  a  rod,  and  got 
loose  and  run  away  and  turned  the  wagon  up  side 
down,  and  they  kept  on  leaping  and  jumping  until 
they  got  all  the  harness  broken  up  and  got  away.  It 
beat  a  monkey  show.  We  all  laughed  until  we  cried, 
but  the  little  chaps  have  reorganized  on  a  more  sub 
stantial  basis,  and  there  is  another  exhibition  to  come 
off  soon. 

Mr.  Shakespeare  says  that  a  man  has  seven  ages, 


124  BILL    AEP. 

but  to  my  opinion  a  boy  lias  about  ten  of  his  own. 
He  begins  with  his  first  pair  of  breeches  and  a  stick 
horse,  and  climbs  up  by  degrees  to  toy  guns  and  fire 
crackers  and  sling  shot  and  breaking  calves  and  billy 
goats,  and  to  sure  enough  guns  and  a  pointer  dog; 
and  the  looking  glass  age  when  he  admires  himself 
and  greases  his  hair  and  feels  of  his  downy  beard; 
and  then  he  joins  a  brass  band  and  toots  a  horn;  and 
then  he  reads  novels  and  falls  in  love  and  rides  a 
prancing  horse  and  writes  perfumed  notes  to  his 
girl.  When  his  first  love  kicks  him  and  begins  to 
run  with  another  fellow  he  drops  into  the  age  of  des 
pair,  and  wants  to  go  to  Texas  or  some  other  remote 
region  and  sadly  sings : 

"This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show." 

Boys  are  mighty  smart  now-a-days.  They  know 
as  much  at  ten  years  as  we  used  to  know  at  twenty, 
and  it  is  right  hard  for  us  to  keep  ahead  of  'em. 
Parents  use  to  rule  their  children  but  children  rule 
their  parents  now.  There  is  no  whipping  at  home, 
and  if  a  boy  gets  a  little  at  school  it  raises  a  row  and 
a  presentation  to  the  grand  jury.  When  my  teacher 
whipped  me  I  never  mentioned  it  at  home  for  fear  of 
getting  another.  I  got  three  whippings  in  one  day 
when  I  was  a  lad ;  I  had  a  fight  with  another  boy  and 
he  whipped  me,  and  the  school  teacher  whipped  me 
for  fighting,  and  my  father  whipped  me  because  the 
teacher  did.  That  was  awful,  wasent  it?  But  it  was 
right,  and  it  did  me  good.  One  of  these  modern  phi 
lanthropies  was  telling  my  kinsman  the  other  day 
how  to  raise  a  boy.  " Never  whip  him,"  said  he. 
"Raise  him  on  love  and  kindness  and  reason,"  and 
then  he  appealed  to  me  for  endorsement.  "And 
when  that  boy  is  about  twelve  years  old,"  said  I, 


BILL    ARP.  125 

"do  you  go  and  talk  to  him  and  if  possible  persuade 
him  not  to  whip  his  daddy.  Tell  him  that  it  is  wrong 
and  unfilial,  and  will  injure  his  reputation  in  the 
community. ' ' 

The  modern  boy  is  entirely  too  bigity.  I  was  at 
church  in  Rome  last  Sunday  and  saw  two  boys  there, 
aged  about  ten  and  twelve  years,  and  after  service 
they  lit  their  cigarrettes  and  went  off  smoking.  An 
old-fashioned  man  looked  at  'em  and  remarked:  "I 
would  give  a  quarter  to  paddle  them  two  boys  two 
minutes.  I'll  bet  their  fathers  is  afraid  of  'em  right 
now."  The  old-fashioned  man  never  was  afraid  of 
his.  He  worked  'em  hard,  but  he  gave  'em  all  rea 
sonable  indulgence.  He  kept  'em  at  home  at  nights, 
and  he  made  good  men  of  them.  They  have  pros 
pered  in  business  and  acquired  wealth,  and  are 
raising  their  children  the  same  way,  and  they  love 
and  honor  the  old  gentleman  for  giving  them  habits 
of  industry  and  economy.  He  was  a  merchant  and 
didn't  allow  his  boys  to  sweep  out  a  string  or  a  scrap 
of  paper  as  big  as  your  hat.  Habits  are  the  thing, 
good  habits,  habits  of  industry  and  economy;  when 
acquired  in  youth  they  stick  all  through  life. 

And  the  girls  need  some  watching  too.  They  are 
most  too  fast  now-a-days.  Too  fond  of  fashion,  and 
they  read  too  much  trash.  The  old  fashion  retiring 
modesty  of  character  is  at  a  discount.  They  don't 
wait  for  the  boys  to  come  now,  they  go  after  'em; 
they  marry  in  haste  and  repent  at  leisure ;  they  run 
round  in  their  new-fashioned  night  gowns  and  call  it 
a  Mother  Hubbard  party.  The  newspapers  have 
got  up  a  sensation  about  the  arm  clutch.  The  waist 
clutch  in  these  round  dances  is  just  as  bad  or  worse. 
They  are  all  immodest  and  there  is  not  a  good 


126  BILL    AKP. 

mother  in  the  land  that  approves  of  them.  A  girl 
who  goes  to  a  promiscuous  ball  and  waltzes  around 
with  promiscuous  fellows  puts  herself  in  a  promis 
cuous  fix  to  be  talked  about  by  the  dudes  and  rakes 
and  fast  young  men  who  have  encircled  her  waist. 
A  girl  should  never  waltz  with  a  young  man  whom 
she  would  not  be  willing  to  marry.  Slander  is  very 
common  now,  slander  of  young  ladies,  and  there  are 
not  many  who  escape  it;  the  trouble  is  it  is  not  all 
slander,  some  of  it  is  truth.  In  the  olden  times  when 
folks  got  married  they  stayed  married,  but  now  the 
courts  are  full  of  divorces  and  the  land  is  spotted 
with  grass  widows,  and  in  many  a  household  there  is 
a  hidden  grief  over  a  daughter's  shame.  It  is  a 
good  thing  for  the  girls  to  work  at  something  that  is 
useful.  There  is  plenty  of  home  work  to  do  in  most 
every  household.  If  there  is  not  then  they  can  try 
drawing  and  sketching  or  painting  or  music,  some 
thing  that  will  entertain  them.  There  are  as  many 
female  dudes  as  males,  and  they  ought  to  marry,  I 
reckon,  and  go  to  raising  fools  for  market. 

We  have  got  a  cook  now  and  my  folks  are  taking  a 
rest.  She  is  an  old-fashioned  darkey  and  flies 
around  with  a  quick  step  and  lightly.  Anybody  could 
tell  that  "Sicily"  had  had  good  training  from  a 
white  mistress.  When  she  gets  through  her  work 
she  brings  up  a  tub  of  water  and  goes  to  washing  up 
the  floors  without  being  told;  she  washes  the  dishes 
clean  and  is  nice  about  the  milk  and  the  churning, 
and  is  good  to  the  children.  She  lets  them  cook  a 
little  and  make  boys  and  horses  out  of  the  biscuit 
dough.  The  like  of  that  suits  Mrs.  Arp  exactly.  If 
I  was  a  darkey  I  would  know  exactly  how  to  get  Mrs. 
Arp 's  money  and  her  old  dresses  and  a  heap  of  little 


BILL   ARP.  127 

things  thrown  in.  Yesterday  morning  Sicily's  hus 
band  knocked  at  the  door  very  early  and  said  his 
wife  was  sick,  sick  all  night,  and  I  heard  'em  groan 
and  say  "goodness  gracious;"  but  they  got  up  and 
gave  us  a  first-class  breakfast,  and  I  praised  'em  up 
lots.  I  promised  to  let  'em  go  to  town  and  tumble 
up  the  new  goods  and  bring  back  a  big  lot  of  samples. 
Girls  should  be  encouraged  when  they  do  well. 


128  BILL   ARP. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


MB.  AKP  FEELS  His  INADEQUACY. 

Sometimes  a  man  feels  entirely  unadequate  to  the 
occasion.  A  kind  of  lonesome  and  helpless  feeling 
comes  over  him  that  no  philosophy  can  shake  off.  I 
dident  have  but  five  sheep.  They  were  fine  and  fat 
and  followed  us  about  when  we  walked  down  to  the 
meadow,  and  our  little  shepherd  dog  thought  they 
were  the  prettiest  things  in  the  world,  and  they  would 
eat  salt  out  of  the  children's  hands,  and  we  were 
thinking  about  the  little  lambs  that  would  come  in 
the  spring.  There  was  a  house  for  them  in  the  mead 
ow  and  it  was  full  of  clean  wheat  straw  where  they 
could  take  shelter  from  the  rain  and  the  wind. 

Alas  for  human  hopes.  It  looks  like  everything  is 
born  to  trouble,  especially  sheep.  Yesterday  morn 
ing  I  walked  down  to  the  branch  with  my  tender  off 
spring,  and  before  I  was  prepared  for  it  the  torn  and 
bloody  form  of  the  old  he  ram  was  seen  lying  in  the 
water  before  me.  While  I  stood  and  pondered  over 
his  sad  calamity,  the  children  soon  found  the  others 
scattered  round  in  the  mire  and  bullrushes  stiff  and 
cold  and  dead.  I  thought  of  Mrs.  Arp,  my  wife. 
What  would  she  say?  I  thought  of  that  passage  of 
Scripture  which  says  "beware  of  dogs."  I  thought 
of  Joe  Harris  and  the  Constitution  and  that  con 
founded  legislature.  I  thought  of  guns  and  striknine 
and  the  avenger  of  blood.  Slowly  and  sadly  we  re 
turned  to  the  house,  and  when  the  children  had  un 
folded  the  mournful  tale  Mrs.  Arp,  my  wife,  stopped 


MAJOR     SMITH     AND     CAROLINE. 


BILL    AKP.  129 

washing  the  dishes  and  sat  down  by  the  fire.  For 
awhile  she  never  spoke.  She  seemed  unadequate. 
There  was  a  solemn  stillness  pervading  the  assembled 
family.  The  children  looked  at  me  and  then  at  their 
mother,  when  suddenly  says  she,  choking  up,  "The 
poor  things ;  torn  to  pieces  by  the  dogs  right  here  in 
a  few  steps  of  the  house.  I  heard  Juno  barking 
furiously  in  the  piazza  and  I  heard  the  cows  lowing 
like  something  was  after  their  calves,  and  I  thought  I 
would  wake  you,  but  I  didn't.  Poor  things,  if  they 
had  only  blated  or  made  a  noise."  After  a  solemn 
pause,  she  rose  forward  and  exclaimed:  "William 
Arp,  if  I  was  a  man  I  would  take  my  gun  and  never 
stop  till  I  had  killed  every  dog  in  the  naborhood.  A 
little  while  back  they  killed  all  our  geese  in  that  same 
meadow.  These  trifling  people  round  here  hunt  rab 
bits  all  over  your  plantation  with  the  sheep  killing 
dogs,  and  you  won't  stop  'em  for  fear  of  hurtin  their 
feelings,  and  now  you  see  what  we  get  by  it.  I'd  go 
and  shoot  their  dogs  in  their  own  yards,  and  if  they 
made  a  fuss  about  it  I  would— well  I  don't  know 
what  I  wouldn't  do." 

"  If  I  knew  the  dogs  that  did  it—  "  said  I,  meekly. 

1 '  Knew  the  dogs ! ' '  said  she.  ' i  Why  you  know  that 
big  brindle  that  got  hung  by  his  block  down  there  in 
the  willows,  and  you  ought  to  have  killed  him  then, 
and  you  know  that  white  dog,  and  the  spotted  one 
that  prowls  around,  and  those  dogs  that  them  boys 
are  always  hunting  with— you  can  kill  them  anyhow. 
We  will  never  have  anything  if  you  don't  protect 
yourself,  and  the  Lord  knows  we  've  got  little  enough 
now. ' ' 

"They  will  come  back  to-night,"  said  I,  and  shore 
enough  they  did,  and  the  boys  laid  in  wait  for  'em  and 
(9) 


130  BILL    AKP. 

got  some  revenge,  and  we've  given  the  nabor- 
hood  fair  warning  that  henceforth  we  will  kill  every 
dog  that  puts  his  foot  on  our  premises,  law  or  no  law, 
gospel  or  no  gospel.  We've  declared  war.  A  dog 
that  won't  stay  at  home  at  night  ain't  fit  to  be  a  dog. 
The  next  man  who  runs  for  the  legislature  in  this 
county  has  got  to  commit  himself  against  dogs  or 
I'll  run  against  him  whether  the  people  vote  for  me 
or  not,  and  if  he  beats  me  I  reckon  I  can  move  out 
of  the  county,  can't  I,  or  quit  trying  to  raise  sheep. 
My  nabor,  Mr.  Dobbins,  says  they  have  killed  over 
a  hundred  for  him  in  the  last  two  years  and  he  has 
quit.  He  won 't  try  to  raise  any  more. 

But  we  are  reviving  a  little.  The  ragged  edge  ot 
our  indignation  has  worn  off.  We  skinned  the  poor 
things  and  the  buzzards  have  preyed  upon  their  car 
casses,  and  once  more  our  family  affairs  are  moving 
along  in  subdued  serenity.  Last  night  Mrs.  Arp,  my 
wife,  told  the  girls  she  didn't  think  their  ligh thread 
was  quite  as  light  and  nice  as  she  used  to  make  it,  and 
she  would  show  them  her  way,  so  they  could  take 
pattern.  She  fixed  up  the  yeast  and  made  up  the 
dough  and  put  it  down  by  the  fire  to  rise,  and  this 
morning  it  had  riz  about  a  quarter  of  an  inch,  which 
she  remarked  was  very  curious,  but  reckoned  it  was 
too  cold,  and  so  she  put  it  in  the  oven  to  bake  and 
then  it  got  sullen  and  riz  downwards,  and  by  the  time 
it  was  done  it  was  about  as  thick  as  a  ginger  cake, 
and  weighed  nigh  unto  a  pound  to  the  square  inch. 
She  never  said  anything,  but  hid  it  away  on  the  top 
shelf  of  the  cupboard.  I  saw  the  girls  blinking 
around,  and  when  lunch  time  came  I  got  it  down 
and  carried  it  along  like  it  was  a  keg  of  nails  and 


BILL    AKP.  131 

put  it  before  her.     "I  thought  you  would  like  some 
ligh thread, "  said  I. 

She  laid  down  her  knife  and  fork,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  was  altogether  unadequate  to  the  occasion. 
Suddenly  she  seized  the  stubborn  loaf,  and  as  I  ran 
out  of  the  door  it  took  me  right  in  the  small  of  my 
back,  and  I  actually  thought  somebody  had  struck 
me  on  the  spine  with  a  maul.  ' '  Now,  Mr.  Impudence, 
take  that,"  said  she.  "If  a  man  asks  for  bread  will 
you  give  him  a  stone?"  said  I.  Seeing  that  hostili 
ties  were  about  to  be  renewed,  I  retired  prematurely 
to  the  piazza  to  ruminate  on  the  rise  of  cotton  and 
wheat,  and  iron,  and  everything  else  but  bread. 
She's  got  two  little  grandsons  staying  with  her,  and 
unbeknowing  to  me  she  hacked  that  bread  into 
chunks  and  armed  five  little  chaps  with  'em,  and  she 
came  forth  as  captain  of  the  gang  and  suddenly  they 
took  me  unawares  in  a  riotous  and  tumultuous  man 
ner.  They  banged  me  up  awfully  before  I  could  get 
out  of  the  way.  My  head  is  sore  all  over,  and  take 
it  all  in  all,  I  consider  myself  the  injured  person.  I 
mention  this  circumstance  as  a  warnin'  to  let  all 
things  alone  when  your  wife  hides  'em,  especially 
bread  that  wouldent  rise.  Mrs.  Arp,  my  wife,  has 
most  wonderful  control  of  these  little  chaps— chil 
dren  and  grand-children.  She  can  sick  'em  onto 
me  with  a  nod  or  a  wink,  but  I  can't  sick  'em  onto 
her;  no  sir.  I  never  tried,  and  I  don't  reckon  I  ever 
will,  but  I  just  know  I  couldn't.  I  don't  have  much  of 
a  showing  with  these  children.  This  morning  I  found 
one  of  'em  climbin'  up  on  the  sash  of  the  flower  pit, 
and  while  I  was  hunting  for  a  switch  the  little  rascal 
ran  to  his  grandma,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it.  She 
never  said  nothing,  but  sorter  paused  and  looked 


132  BILL    AKP. 

at  me.  My  only  chance  is  to  get  'em  away  off  in  the 
field  or  the  woods  and  thrash  'em  generally  for  a 
month's  rascality,  and  then  honey  them  up  just 
before  we  get  home  to  keep  'em  from  telling  on  me. 
For  thirty  years  Mrs.  Arp,  my  wife,  has  labored 
under  the  delusion  that  the  children  are  hers,  and 
that  I  had  mightly  little  to  do  with  'em  from  the 
beginning.  I  would  like  to  see  somebody  try  to  take 
'em  away  with  a  habeas  corpus  or  any  other  corpus. 
Goodness  gracious.  Talk  about  a  lioness  robbed  of 
her  whelps  or  a  she  bear  of  her  cubs.  Well,  it 
couldn't  be  done,  that's  all. 


BILL    AKP.  133 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


UNCLE  BART. 

Old  Uncle  Bart,  as  we  call  him,  wasn't  a  common 
drunkard  nor  an  uncommon  one  either,  but  every 
time  he  came  to  town  he  would  get  drunk.  He  came 
mighty  seldom,  for  when  he  did  the  memory  of  it 
lasted  him  about  three  months.  He  told  me  after 
such  a  spree  he  felt  as  mean  and  lonely  as  a  stray 
dog.  He  said  he  couldn't  eat  nor  sleep,  and  away  in 
the  night  wanted  water  so  bad  he  "felt  like  he  could 
bite  a  branch  in  two  and  swallow  the  upper  end. ' ' 

One  morning  he  came  in  early  to  see  Dolph  ROSK 
who  was  going  to  Texas.  He  came  across  him  before 
he  came  across  the  grocery,  and  says  he:  "Hallo, 
Dolph— gwine  to  Texas  ?" 

"Yes,  Uncle  Bart,  I  am." 

"Well,  my  brother  Ben  lives  over  there,  and  he's 
got  big  rich,  and  no  family,  and  I  thought  if  you'd 
see  him  and  tell  him  how  sorry  we  was  gettin'  along 
he  mout  do  something  for  us.  You  see  my  wheat  crop 
is  likely  to  fail,  for  the  back-water  from  the  spring 
freshet  got  over  it,  and  it's  all  turned  yaller,  and  my 
corn  looks  sickly,  and  my  best  cow  got  snake-bit  last 
week  and  died,  and  the  old  lady  is  powerful  puny,  and 
Sal  she  got  to  hankerin'  arter  a  likely  chap  in  the 
naborhood  and  married  him,  and  he  ain't  got  nothin', 
and  I'm  gettin'  old  and  can't  stand  nigh  as  much  as  I 
used  to,  and  I  want  you  to  see  Brother  Ben,  and 
maybe  he'll  do  somethin'— you  see?" 

"Yes,  I  see,  Uncle  Bart,  but  where  does  your  broth- 


134  BILL   AKP. 

er  Ben  live?" 

"Live?  Why,  he  lives  in  Texas,  I  told  ye!  If  you 
don't  meet  him  in  the  road  you  can  send  him  some 
word  by  somebody  and  he  '11  find  you.  He 's  over  there 
shore. ' ' 

In  about  an  hour  he  met  Dolph  again,  and  slapping 
his  foot  down  limberly,  he  seized  Dolph 's  hand  with 
a  loving  grip,  and  says  he,  "Hello,  Dolph— gwine  to 
Texas?" 

"Yes,  Uncle  Bart." 

"Will  you  tell  Brother  Ben  that  we  are  all  doin* 
tol'able ;  the  crop  looks  'bout  as  good  as  common,  and 
the  old  'oman's  sweet  and  sassy  as  ever,  and  Sal's 
she's  married  and  done  splendid.  Good  by,  Dolph, 
God  bless  you,  I  love  you. ' ' 

In  about  two  more  drinks,  from  that  time,  Uncle 
Bart  come  weavin'  along,  and,  says  he,  "Hello, 
Dolph,  gwine  to  Texas?— tell  Brother  Ben  I've  got— 
the  brest  crop  in  the— State— to  let  me  know  how  he's 
golonging  along— if  he  wants  anything— he  shall— 
s'havit— he  shan't— he  shan't— she  shan't  suffer— as 
long  as— as  I've  got  nothin'— I  can  send  him— t wen 
or  twelve-teen  dollars— any  time— farewell,  Dolph." 

About  the  close  of  the  day  Dolph  found  him  on  the 
lowermost  step  of  the  grocery,  his  head  on  his  knees 
and  his  hat  on  the  ground.  Thinking  it  a  poor  place 
to  spend  the  night,  he  aroused  him  to  a  glimmering 
view  of  the  situation. 

"Hello— Boff  Doss,"  says  he,  "gwine  to— Texas? 
—tell  Brother  Ben— hell's  afloat  and  the  river's 
a-risin'."  (Hie.) 


BILL    AKP.  135 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


COBE  TALKS  A  LITTLE. 

"Everything  is  adopted/'  Says  I,  "Cobe,  you 
musent  say  adopted,  for  you  mean  adapted."  "Well, 
I  reckon  so,"  says  he.  "Everything  is  adapted. 
Everything  fits  to  everything.  There  is  that  houn' 
dog  a-runnin'  that  rabbit  and  the  dog  is  adopted  to 
the  rabbit  and  the  rabbit  is  adopted  to  the  dog.  One 
was  made  for  the  tother  to  run.  If  there  wasent  any 
rabbits  there  wouldent  be  any  houn'  dogs.  Boys  is 
adopted  to  squirrels.  If  there  wasent  any  boys  there 
wouldent  be  any  squirrels.  If  there  wasent  any  chick 
ens  there  wouldent  be  any  hawks,  for  hawks  is  adopt 
ed  to  chickens,  and  if  there  wasent  any  chickens  and 
birds  there  wouldent  be  any  bugs  and  worms ;  and  the 
bugs  and  worms  is  adopted  to  the  leaves  and  vege 
tables,  and  there  is  always  enough  left  of  everything 
for  seed  and  for  white  folks  to  live  on.  Hogs  is 
adopted  to  acorns,  and  if  there  wasent  any  hogs  there 
wouldent  be  more  than  eight  or  ten  acorns  on  a  tree 
—just  enough  for  seed ;  and  hogs  is  adopted  to  folks, 
and  if  there  wasent  any  folks  there  wouldent  be  any 
hogs.  There  wouldent  be  any  use  for  'em.  I'll  tell 
you,  major,  everything  was  fixed  up  about  right,  as 
shore  as  you're  born,  and  most  everything  was  fixed 
up  for  us.  Hogs  has  got  sausage  meat  and  tripe  and 
cracklins,  and  souse  and  backbone  and  sparerib  and 
lard  and  ham  and  shoulder  and  jowl  to  eat  with  tur 
nip  greens,  and  it's  all  mighty  good  and  its  all  adopt 
ed." 


136  BILL   ARP. 

"That  is  all  so,  Cobe,"  said  I;  "everything  is 
adapted,  whether  it  is  adopted  or  not. ' ' 

"Yes,  said  he,  "and  I've  noticed  it  for  a  long 
time,  when  the  wheat  is  cut  off  the  land  the  grass 
comes  up  for  hay,  and  if  we  cut  it  off  another  crop 
comes  up  and  keeps  the  hot  sun  off  the  land,  and 
one  crop  follows  another,  and  if  we  make  a  poor  crop 
one  year  we  make  a  better  one  the  next  year,  and  if 
we  don't  we  can  live  on  hope  and  cut  down  expenses 
and  work  the  harder  to  fix  up,  and  some  how  or  other 
or  somehow  else  we  all  get  along,  and  when  there  is 
a  gap  we  fill  it  up  with  something,  and  we  all  get 
along  and  nobody  perishes  to  death  in  the  name  of 
the  Lord,  for  everything  fits  and  everything  is 
adopted." 

"Well,  says  I,  "Cobe,  that  is  all  so— not  only  so, 
but  also,  but  there  are  a  heap  of  things  come  along 
that  don't  seem  to  be  adopted,  as  you  call  it.  Here 
comes  the  army  worm,  and  the  grasshoppers,  and  the 
caterpillars,  and  all  sorts  of  vermin,  and  they  are  not 
adapted,  and  what  are  we  going  to  do  with  them! 
What  are  you  going  to  do  with  snakes,  mad  dogs,  and 
storms,  and  pestilence,  and  diphtheria,  and  smallpox, 
and  all  such  afflictions!  Are  they  adopted,  or  are 
they  adapted,  or  what  are  they  1 ' ' 

"Well,  sir,"  says  Cobe,  "I'll  tell  you.  I  haven't 
been  troubled  with  them  things  yet,  but  if  I  was  I 
know  there  would  be  some  offset,  something  to  bal 
ance  the  account.  I  never  knowed  a  man  to  have  a 
big  trouble  but  what  there  was  something  to  balance 
off  the  trouble.  I  never  knowed  a  man  to  go  to  Texas 
but  what  he  writ  back  that  there  wasn't  anything  to 
brag  off  after  he  got  there.  The  good  things  of  this 
life  are  pretty  equally  distributed  if  we  only  did 
know  it.  A  rich  man  haint  got  much  advantage  of  a 


BILL    ARP.  137 

poor  man  if  the  poor  man  is  any  account.  Some 
poor  folks  is  bad  stock  and  don't  want  to  work  and 
goes  about  grumbling.  They  is  just  like  a  bad  stock 
of  horses  or  cattle  or  dogs  and  ought  to  die  out  and 
quit  the  country.  We  don't  send  round  the  settle 
ment  to  git  a  poor  dog  or  a  poor  cat,  or  a  poor  hog 
or  a  poor  cow.  We  want  a  good  stock  of  any 
thing;  and  there  is  about  the  same  difference  in 
folks  that  there  is  in  anything  else.  There  are  some 
rich  folks  that  are  clever  and  some  that  are  mean— 
some  grind  you  down  and  some  help  you  up,  but 
them  who  grind  you  down  don't  have  much  enjoy 
ment.  They  are  never  happy  unless  they  are  miser 
able.  I'd  rather  be  poor  than  to  be  some  rich  men 
that  I  know.  My  children  have  a  better  time  eating 
simmons  and  black  haws  and  digging  gubbers  and 
hunting  possums  than  their  children  do  in  getting 
to  parties  and  wearing  fine  clothes  and  fussing  with 
one  another  and  doing  nothing  for  a  living.  There 
is  nothing  like  work— working  for  a  living  and  being 
contented  with  your  situation.  I  love  to  see  rich 
folks  doing  well,  for  they  help  out  the  country  and 
build  railroads,  and  factories,  and  car  shops,  and 
open  up  the  iron  mines,  and  I  know  that  if  every 
body  was  as  poor  as  I  am  the  country  wouldent 
prosper,  and  it  looks  like  everything  was  adopted, 
and  we  need  rich  folks  to  plan  and  poor  folks  to 
work,  and  they  couldent  get  along  without  us  any 
more  than  we  could  get  along  without  them.  I  don't 
want  their  fine  clothes,  nor  their  fine  house,  nor  their 
carriage  and  horses,  and  they  don't  want  my  little 
old  mule,  nor  my  bobtail  coat,  and  so  it 's  all  right  all 
round,  and  everything  is  adopted.  It  don't  take 
me  but  a  minute  and  a  half  to  get  ready  to  go  to 


138  BILL   AKP. 

meetin',  for  all  IVe  got  to  do  is  to  put  on  my  coat 
and  comb  the  cuckleburs  outen  my  hair  and  wash 
my  face  and  git  a  couple  of  chaws  of  tobacco  and 
take  my  foot  in  my  hand  and  go.  I  can  squat  down 
at  the  door  whin  I  git  there,  and  hear  all  the  preach 
ers  has  got  to  say,  and  thank  the  Lord  for  his  good 
ness,  and  that  is  worship  enough  for  a  poor  man,  I 
reckon,  and  it's  all  adopted.  "When  I  see  fine  things 
and  fine  people  I'm  always  thankful  for  some  favors 
that  are  pow'ful  cheap  considering  that  money  runs 
the  world,  for  we  have  got  good  health  and  good 
appetites  at  my  house  and  can  sleep  well  on  a  hard 
bed,  and  a  drink  of  spring  water  is  the  best  thing 
in  the  world  to  a  hungry  man.  We  haint  got  no 
dishpepsy  nor  heart  burn,  and  nobody  haint  suing 
me  for  my  land,  for  I  haint  got  any,  and  my  wife 
can  make  as  good  corn  bread  as  anybody,  and  our 
tables  is  a  good  kind,  and  the  old  cow  lets  down  her 
milk  about  right  and  can  live  and  do  well  without 
being  curried  and  fed  up  like  a  Jersey,  and  she 
understands  my  children  and  they  understand  her, 
and  so  it  looks  like  everything  is  aodpted.  I  was 
thinking  the  other  day  how  much  service  this  old  coat 
Mrs.  Arp  gave  me  has  done,  for  if  it  had  been  a  new 
one  I  would  have  been  afeered  of  it,  but  IVe  wore  it 
now  for  six  months,  and  its  good  yet,  and  the  chil 
dren  have  wore  the  old  clothes  she  give  them,  and 
they  are  all  adopted,  and  now,  major,  if  you  have  got 
a  chaw  or  two  of  that  good  tobacco  you  always  have 
I  want  a  bite  or  two,  for  that  is  one  thing  I  like  better 
than  poor  folks '  tobaccer.  Its  one  thing  that  I  think 
is  a  little  better  adopted  than  anything  else.  At 
least  I  like  it  better." 

Cobe  got  his  tobacco  and  flanked  his  little  mule 
with  his  heelless  shoes  and  galloped  away  in  peace. 


BILL    ARP.  139 

If  he  is  not  adapted,  I  know  he  feels  adopted.  Cobe 
has  peculiar  ideas  and  a  peculiar  language.  He 
always  said  that  thunder  killed  a  man,  and  when  I 
told  him  it  was  lightning  he  said,  "Well,  I  know 
they  say  it  is  lightning,,  but  I've  always  noticed  that 
when  it  strikes  a  tree  or  a  man  or  a  mule  the  thunder 
and  the  lightning  comes  all  in  a  bunch,  and  you 
can't  tell  tother  from  which."  "But,  Cobe,"  says 
I,  "when  a  gun  shoots,  the  noise  don't  hurt  any 
thing;  it  is  the  shot."  "Just  so.  Just  so,"  says 
he,  "but  there  is  no  shot  about  this  thunder 
business. ' ' 


140  BILL   ARP. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


THE  UPS  AND  DOWNS  OF  FARMING. 

I  never  could  write  like  a  school-master,  and  now 
my  fingers  are  all  in  a  twist  and  I  am  as  nervous  as 
a  woman  with  the  neuralgia.  Me  and  my  hopeful 
set  out  yesterday  morning  to  cut  an  acre  of  second- 
crop  clover,  for  these  lazy  niggers  round  here  want 
ed  a  dollar  a  day  and  board,  and  I  wouldn't  give  it, 
and  so  me  and  him  undertook  the  job  for  our  vittles 
alone,  and  he  had  a  good  mowing-blade  and  I  rigged 
up  an  old  scythe  that  belonged  to  a  wheat-cradle,  and 
it  was  about  six  feet  long  and  took  a  sweep  according 
and  the  clover  was  rank  and  mixed  up  with  morning 
glories,  and  for  the  first  ten  minutes  it  looked  like 
we  would  just  walk  through  it  like  one  of  McCor- 
mick's  reapers;  but  you  see,  that  kind  of  work 
brought  into  play  a  new  set  of  nerves  and  muscles 
that  hadent  been  used  in  a  long  time,  for  mowin' 
clover  with  a  long  blade  is  an  irregular,  side-wipin* 
business  that  swings  a  man  in  all  sorts  of  horizontal 
attitudes,  for  sometimes  he  don't  put  on  enough 
power  for  the  reach  of  his  blade,  and  then  again  he 
puts  on  a  little  too  much,  and  it  comes  round  with  a 
jerk  that  twists  him  up  like  a  corkscrew,  and  so  the 
first  thing  I  knew  I  was  blowin'  worse  than  a  tired 
steer  and  my  shirt  stuck  to  me  and  my  heart  was 
beating  like  a  muffled  drum,  and  I  rather  look  back 
at  what  I  had  cut  than  ahead  of  me  at  what  I  hadn't. 
But  I  was  too  proud  to  surrender,  for,  though  I  say 
it  myself,  there's  grit  in  me,  and  ever  and  anon  it 


BILL   AKP.  141 

shows  itself,  under  peculiar  circumstances.  I  heaved 
ahead  of  my  boy  with  my  long-sweepin '  simiter,  that 
give  me  time  to  stop  and  git  my  wind  and  wait  for 
my  palpitatin'  bosom  to  quit  thumpin',  and  then  I 
would  rally  my  wastin'  forces  and  go  it  again  until  I 
couldent  go  it  any  longer.  My  boy  was  as  willing  to 
quit  as  I  was,  for  the  sun  was  hot  and  the  air  was 
close,  and  I  say  now  after  due  reflection,  it  was  the 
hardest  morning's  work  I  ever  did,  and  I'm  not  for 
hire  to  repeat  it  at  a  dollar  a  day  or  any  other  insig 
nificant  reward,  for  it  has  twisted  me  out  of  all  decent 
shape  and  I  go  about  hump-shouldered  and  sway- 
backed  and  as  sore  all  over  as  if  I  had  been  beat  with 
a  thrash-pole.  I  don't  think  I  would  have  made  such 
a  fool  of  myself,  but  you  see  some  of  my  wife 's  rela 
tions  had  come  a  long  ways  to  see  us  and  all  the  fam 
ily  paraded  over  to  the  clover  field  like  a  general  and 
his  staff,  and  as  they  stood  around  I  put  on  as  much 
style  as  possible  in  swingin'  my  blade  and  could  hear 
'em  admiring  us  how  gracefully  and  easily  we  han 
dled  the  instruments,  when  the  truth  was  we  had 
mighty  nigh  mowed  ourselves  to  death  and  saved  the 
king  of  terrors  the  job. 

What  a  power  of  influence  these  female  smiles  do 
have  upon  us.  What  undertaking  is  there  that  we 
will  not  undertake  if  they  will  stand  by  and  look  on 
and  encourage.  Why  sir,  I  have  thought  in  moments 
of  enthusiasm  that  if  my  wife,  Mrs.  Arp,  was  to  un 
fold  her  angelic  wings  and  soar  away  to  Chimbora- 
zo's  top,  and  call  me  with  a  heavenly  smile,  I'd  go  too 
if  I  could.  I  wish  they  were  all  rich,  for  these  two 
traits  about  women  have  always  struck  me.  They  can 
live  on  less  than  they  are  obliged  to,  and  make  a 
little  go  a  heap  further  than  the  men,  but  when 


142  BILL    ARP. 

money  is  handy  they  can  spend  more  and  take  more 
satisfaction  in  gettin'  rid  of  it  than  anybody. 

I  read  the  other  day  in  a  farming  paper  that  moles 
dident  do  any  harm,  but  on  the  contrary  they  did 
good  in  eating  up  bugs  and  worms;  well,  I  caught 
one  on  the  first  day  of  this  month,  a  nice,  slick,  fat 
fellow;  and  as  my  folks  had  been  making  an  April 
fool  of  me  all  day,  I  just  emptied  the  sugar  bowl  and 
shut  the  sweet  little  innocent  up  in  there.  Mrs.  Arp 
is  a  dignified  woman,  especially  at  the  table.  She 
takes  her  seat  the  last  of  all  and  after  grace  she  ar 
ranges  the  cups  in  the  saucers,  and  the  next  thing 
is  to  put  in  the  sugar  and  cream  and  give  it  a  little 
stir  with  a  spoon.  Mrs.  Arp  is  afraid  of  rats,  and 
so  when  she  stertched  forth  her  sweet  little  hand  and 
removed  the  sugar  dish  top  the  varmint  rose  sud 
denly  to  a  perpendicular  position,  and  stuck  his  red 
snout  just  above  the  top  edge.  She  saw  him— I 
know  she  did  from  the  way  she  done.  Anticipating  a 
catastrophy,  I  had  slipped  around  to  the  rear  and 
reached  her  just  in  time  to  receive  her  into  my  affec 
tionate  arms  as  she  was  reaching  backward  in  a 
riotous  and  tumultuous  manner.  Shutting  up  the 
animal  again,  I  departed  those  coasts,  and  it  took  me 
two  days  to  mole-if y  her  lacerated  feelings  and  make 
things  calm  and  serene.  The  next  morning  I  turned 
him  loose  in  the  garden,  and  before  night  he  had  run 
his  underground  railroad  right  under  a  row  of  peas 
that  was  about  ten  inches  high,  and  cut  the  peas  from 
the  seed,  and  the  tops  was  lying  flat  and  wilted,  like 
a  cabbage  plant  when  the  cut  worms  find  it. 

Farmin'  is  a  good  deal  like  fishin'.  Every  time 
you  start  out  you  can  just  see  yourself  catchin'  'em; 
but  after  tryin'  every  hole  in  the  creek  you  go  home 
sorrowfully,  with  a  fisherman's  luck.  But  we  are  not 


BILL    AKP.  143 

complainin'  by  no  means,  for  we've  got  wheat  enuf 
for  biskit  every  day  and  light-bread  on  Sunday,  and 
a  few  bushels  to  spare  for  them  angels  that's  to  come 
along  unawares  sum  of  these  days.  We  finished  cut- 
tin'  the  oat  crop  this  mornin',  and  what  with  them 
and  the  clover  already  housed,  the  cattle  are  safe  for 
another  year.  I  imagine  they  look  sassy  and  thank 
ful  ;  but  as  for  me,  I  am  a  used  up  individual.  Durin' 
harvest  I  have  had  to  be  a  binder,  and  if  you  don't 
know  what  that  is,  ask  Harris.  The  ends  of  these 
fingers  which  are  now  inscribin'  this  epistle  are  in  a 
bad  fix.  Skarified  and  done  up  with  bull  nettles  and 
briars,  they  are  as  sore  as  a  school-boy's  bile.  There 
was  sum  variation  to  my  business,  such  as  catchin' 
young  rabbits,  and  findin'  partridge  nests,  and  pick- 
in'  dewberries;  but  the  romance  wore  off  the  first 
day,  and  by  the  end  of  the  next  my  wife  says  I  was  as 
humble  a  man  as  any  woman  could  desire.  It's  a 
mighty  purty  thing  to  write  about  and  make  up  oads 
and  pomesou.  The  golden  grain,  the  manly  reapers, 
the  strutten'  sheaves,  the  song  of  the  harvesters,  and 
purty  Miss  Ruth  coquettin'  around  the  fields  of  old 
man  Boaz,  and  "how  jokin'  did  they  drive  their  team 
afield,"  is  all  so  sweet  and  nice  to  a  man  up  a  tree 
with  an  umbrel,  but  if  them  poets  had  to  tie  wheat 
half  a  day  in  a  June  sun,  their  sentimentality  would 
henceforth  seek  another  subjek.  I  tried  swingin'  the 
cradle  awhile,  but  somehow  or  somehow  else,  I 
couldn't  exactly  get  the  lick.  It  wasent  the  kind  of 
a  cradle  I  Ve  been  used  to,  and  I  am  too  old  a  dog  to 
learn  new  tricks  now. 

The  branches  are  getting  low.  The  corn  is  curling 
in  the  blades.  The  mills  grind  a  little  in  the  morning 
and  then  wait  for  the  pond  to  fill.  The  locust  is 


144  BILL    ARP. 

singin'  a  parchin'  tune.  Summer  flies  keeps  the 
cows'  tails  busy,  and  all  nature  gives  sign  of  a 
comin'  drouth.  I  don't  like  this,  but  am  tryin'  to 
be  resigned.  Before  I  turned  farmer  such  weather 
dident  concern  me  much  if  I  could  find  a  cool  retreat, 
but  now  I  realize  how  dependent  is  mankind  upon  the 
farm,  and  the  farmer  upon  Providence.  The  truth 
is,  its  a  precarious  business  all  around,  and  I  some 
times  catch  myself  a  wishin'  I  was  rich  or  had  a 
sorter  side-show  to  my  circus. 

A  sorry  farmer  on  a  sorry  farm  is  a  sorry  spec 
tacle.  A  good  farmer  on  poor  land  and  a  poor 
farmer  on  good  land  are  purty  well  balanced,  and 
can  scratch  along  if  the  seasons  hit;  but  I  reckon  a 
smart  and  diligent  man  with  good  hands  to  back  him 
is  about  as  secure  against  the  shiftin'  perils  of  this 
life  as  anybody  can  be ;  and  then  if  a  man  could  have 
besides  a  few  thousand  dollars  invested  in  stocks  and 
draw  the  intrust  twice  a  year  he  ought  to  be  as  happy 
as  subloonary  things  can  make  him.  Then,  you  see, 
he  could  send  off  his  children  to  school,  and  visit 
his  kin,  and  keep  a  cook  and  a  top  buggy,  and  lay  in 
some  chaney  ware  and  a  carpet  for  the  old  'oman, 
and  new  bonnets  and  red  ear-rings  for  the  girls, 
and  have  a  little  missionary  money  left.  If  the 
drouth  or  the  army  worm  or  the  caterpillar 
comes  along  he  would  have  something  to  fall  back 
on  and  make  him  always  feel  calm  and  sereen.  I 
think  I  would  like  that— wouldent  you?— and  I 
reckon  there  ain't  no  harm  in  prayin'  for  it  as  Agur 
did  when  he  said,  "Give  me  neither  poverty  nor 
riches."  Most  every  aspirin'  man  I  know  of  in  the 
towns  and  cities  is  lookin'  forward  to  this  blessed 
state.  They  work  and  toil  and  twist,  and  dodge  in  and 


BILL   AKP.  145 

dodge  out,  and  do  a  thousand  little  things  they  are 
sorter  ashamed  of,  with  a  view  at  the  last  of  settling 
down  on  some  good  farm  with  creeks  and  springs  and 
meadows  and  mills  and  fine  cattle,  and  windin'  up  a 
perplexin'  life  in  peace  with  mankind  and  commun 
ion  with  honest  nature.  No  ambitious  man  becomes 
lost  to  such  pleasant  hopes  as  these,  and  the  more 
trouble  he  has  the  more  he  longs  for  it,  for  it's  about 
the  fittenest  way  I  know  of  to  get  time  to  repent  and 
make  preparation  for  shuffling  off  this  mortal  coil. 
But  to  all  such  the  outside  investment  is  highly  neces 
sary.  Even  Beecher  could  not  get  along  without  it— 
for  there  are  a  thousand  little  leeks  in  farmin'  that 
a  man  without  experience  can't  stop,  and  without 
capital  can't  remedy.  Why,  only  this  mornin'  one  of 
my  boys  was  driving  across  a  bridge  and  the  mule 
Joe  got  skeered  at  his  shadder  and  shoved  Tom  over 
on  the  hand  rail  and  it  broke,  and  he  fell  in  the  creek 
and  dragged  Joe  with  him,  and  the  wagon,  too,  and 
broke  the  tongue  all  to  pieces,  and  the  houns  and  the 
haims  and  the  harness  and  the  driver,  and  both  the 
mules  set  in  to  kickin'  with  the  front  end  of  the 
wagon  on  top  of  'em,  and  the  hind  end  up  on  the 
bridge,  and  you  could  have  heard  the  racket  for  two 
miles  without  a  telef one ;  and  the  girls  ran  and 
screamed,  and  Mrs.  Arp  liked  to  have  fainted  every 
step  of  the  way,  for  she  said  she  knew  Paul  was 
killed  as  he  fell,  and  kicked  to  death  by  the  mules 
and  drowned  afterwards,  and  it  took  two  hours  to 
clear  the  wreck  and  restore  the  wounded  and  passify 
the  women  and  get  everything  once  more  calm  and 
screen.  Now,  you  see,  there's  some  unforseen  dam 
ages  to  pay  and  nobody  to  pay  'em,  and  all  we  can 
do  is  to  charge  it  up  to  the  mule.  I  do  think  that 

(10) 


146  BILL    AKP. 

we  farmers  ought  to  have  some  protection  agin  the 
like  of  this,  and  I  want  to  introduce  a  bill  the  next 
session,  for  they've  been  protecting  manufacturers 
for  seventy-five  years  and  neglectin'  agriculture, 
which  is  the  very  subsill  of  a  nation's  prosperity.  I 
wonder  if  our  law-makers  who  can  save  a  State 
couldn't  fix  up  an  arrangement  that  would  give 
everybody  a  good  price  for  what  they  had  to  sell,  and 
put  everything  down  low  what  we  had  to  buy,  and 
then  abolish  taxes  and  work  the  roads  with  the  chain- 
gang,  and  let  the  bell-punch  run  the  government. 
Such  a  law  would  give  universal  satisfaction  and 
immortalize  its  author. 


BILL    ARP.  147 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


THE  FAMILY  PREPARING  TO  RECEIVE  CITY  COUSINS. 

It's  a  thrillin'  time  when  a  country  family  have 
invited  their  city  cousins  to  visit  'em,  and  are  fixin' 
up  to  receive  'em  in  a  hospitable  manner. 

The  scouring  mop  and  the  floor-cloth  and  an  old 
jar  of  lye  soap  and  a  pan  full  of  sand  are  not  very 
elegant  things  to  handle,  but  they  are  useful  and 
can 't  be  abolished  with  decency. 

Everything  around  and  about  our  premises  is 
mighty  clean  and  nice  now.  I  wish  it  would  stay  so. 
I  don't  care  so  much  about  it  myself,  but  it  harmo 
nizes  with  Mrs.  Arp  and  the  girls  and  the  Scriptures. 
I'm  afraid  I'm  a  little  heathenish  about  such  things, 
for  I  don't  like  to  live  under  such  constraint— to  have 
to  scrape  my  shoes  so  much  and  shut  the  doors  and 
hang  up  my  hat  and  empty  the  wash-bowl.  I  don't 
like  to  see  the  ashes  taken  up  quite  so  clean  and  so 
often  and  so  much  sweeping  and  scrubbing.  I  don't 
think  the  broom  ought  to  be  set  in  the  corner  upside 
down  nor  the  clean  towel  hid  in  the  washstand  where 
me  and  the  little  boys  can't  find  it.  I  think  I  would 
like  a  room  somewhere  close  about  where  me  and  the 
children  could  do  as  we  please  and  enjoy  a  little  dirt 
on  the  floor  and  throw  the  saw  and  the  hammer  and 
a  few  nails  around  and  kick  off  our  muddy  shoes  and 
mould  bullets  and  pop  corn  and  play  horse  and  mar 
bles  and  tumble  up  the  bed  and  do  as  we  please  and 
clean  up  things  about  once  a  month.  But  there 's  no 
room  to  spare,  and  so  I  have  to  endeavor  to  live  like 


148  BILL   AEP. 

a  gentleman  whether  I  want  to  or  not.  IVe  got  an 
idea  that  a  little  clean  dirt  is  healthy.  I'm  afraid 
that  little  tender  children  are  washed  and  bathed  too 
much.  Poor  little  things.  It's  very  disagreeable  to 
'em.  I  never  saw  one  that  liked  it,  and  that's  pretty 
good  evidence  it's  not  accordin'  to  nature.  Once  a 
week  is  very  reasonable,  but  this  every  night's  busi 
ness  is  a  sin.  They  say  it  keeps  the  pores  open,  but 
maybe  they  oughtent  to  be  kept  open  all  the  time. 
The  surgeons  say  that  a  handful  of  fresh  earth  bound 
on  a  flesh  wound  or  a  bruise  will  cure  it  up,  and  I've 
found  out  that  the  best  cure  for  scratches  in  horses' 
feet  is  walking  in  fresh  plowed  ground.  I  never  saw 
a  healthy  child  that  didn't  love  to  play  in  the  dirt, 
and  the  sand  and  make  frog  houses  and  mud  pies. 
But  still  I  don't  go  to  extremes.  I  don't  want  'em  to 
get  so  dirty  their  skin  hasn't  got  any  pores  at  all  and 
their  little  ears  would  sprout  turnip  seed.  Every 
thing  must  be  done  in  reason  and  in  season.  There's 
some  things  I  am  mighty  particular  about— such  as 
clean  dishes  and  butter  and  milk  and  sausage-meat. 
I  saw  a  woman  milking  the  other  day,  and  she  pulled 
the  calf  away  by  the  calf's  tail  and  then  wiped  off  the 
cow's  tits  with  the  cow's  tail  and  went  to  milking.  I 
thought  there  was  too  little  water  and  too  much  tail 
in  that. 

But  to  return  to  the  preparations  for  the  reception. 
The  girls  took  matters  in  charge,  and  for  several  days 
the  exciting  episode  went  on.  It  was  like  clearing  the 
deck  of  a  man-of-war  for  a  fight.  The  house  has  been 
scoured  and  scrubbed  and  sand-papered.  Everything 
in  it  has  been  taken  down  and  put  up  again,  and 
moved  to  a  new  place,  and  I  can't  find  anything  now 
when  I  want  it.  The  old  faded  carpets  have  been 
taken  up  and  patched  all  over,  and  curtailed  and  put 


BILL    ARP.  149 

down  again.  They  get  smaller  and  smaller,  which 
they  say  is  a  good  way  to  wear  'em  out  without  tak 
ing  cold.  The  furniture  has  been  freshly  varnished 
with  kerosene  oil ;  the  window  glass  washed  on  both 
sides,  and  the  knives  and  forks,  water  buckets,  wash 
pans,  and  shovel  and  tongs  brightened  up.  The 
hearths  have  been  painted  a  Spanish  brown,  the 
soiled  plastering  whitewashed,  the  family  portraits 
dusted,  and  the  pewter  teapot  and  plated  castors  and 
spoons  and  napkin  rings  polished  as  fine  as  a  jewelry 
store. 

I  surveyed  the  operations  from  day  to  day  with 
affectionate  interest,  for  it  does  me  good  to  see  young 
people  work  diligently  in  a  meritorious  cause ;  never 
theless  my  routine  of  daily  life  appears  to  be  some 
what  demoralized.  On  the  first  day  our  humble  din 
ner  was  dispensed  with  and  me  and  the  boys  invited 
to  lunch  on  bread  and  sorghum  at  a  side  table.  The 
next  day  we  were  allowed  to  lunch  in  the  back  piaz- 
zer,  for  fear  we  would  mess  up  the  dining  room,  and 
the  next  we  were  confined  to  the  water-shed  to  keep 
us  from  messing  up  the  piazzer,  and  after  that  I 
meekly  prepared  myself  to  be  shoved  out  doors  on  a 
plank,  but  we  wasn't.  Mrs.  Arp  lectures  me  every 
day  on  manners  and  she  don 't  confine  her  lectures  to 
my  private  ear.  The  last  time  we  had  turkey  we  had 
company,  and  when  I  asked  a  lady  if  she  would  have 
some  of  this  fowl,  my  wife,  Mrs.  Arp,  she  looked  at 
me  indignantly,  and  said:  "William,  this  is  not 
fowl— it  is  turkey. "  When  I  asked  the  lady  if  she 
would  have  some  of  the  stuffin,  Mrs.  Arp,  my  wife, 
observed  sarcastically,  "Of  course  she  will  have 
some  of  the  ' dressing.'  "  You  see,  I  thought  that 
dressing  was  generally  worn  outside,  but  it  seems 


ISO  BILL   ARP. 

that  a  turkey  is  not  dressed  until  it  is  undressed. 
Well,  she  overlooked  me  when  the  pie  was  sent 
around;  she  overlooks  me  a  great  deal,  and  when  I 
ventured  to  remind  her  that  I  would  take  some  of  the 
dessert,  she  said  she  didn't  have  any  Sahara,  but 
maybe  a  desert  of  mince  pie  would  do  just  as  well. 
We  took  tea  at  a  nabor's  once,  and  when  a  servant 
handed  me  a  little  glass  dish  of  peaches  in  a  waiter, 
I  thought  the  whole  concern  was  for  me  and  set  it 
down  by  my  plate.  But  my  wife,  Mrs.  Arp,  she 
watches  me  pretty. close  and  whispered  to  me  to  take 
some  of  the  preserves  if  I  wanted  any,  as  the  ser 
vant  was  waiting  for  the  dish.  So  after  awhile  I  was 
handed  a  saucer  of  canned  peaches,  and  when  I  took 
one  out  and  put  it  on  my  plate,  my  wife,  Mrs.  Arp, 
kindly  requested  me  to  eat  out  of  the  saucer.  She 
has  never  got  reconciled  to  the  way  I  imbibe  my  cof 
fee,  for  you  see  I  was  raised  to  pour  it  out  in  the 
saucer,  and  when  I  try  to  take  it  from  the  cup  it 
burns  me  so  I  have  to  give  it  up.  Some  folks  will 
endure  a  heap  for  style,  but  I  am  too  old  to  begin  it 
now.  I  think  I  do  pretty  well  considering  all  things 
and  deserve  credit. 

Delicate  hints  have  been  given  that  it  ain't  polite 
to  set  down  to  dinner  with  one 's  coat  off,  or  eat  hom 
iny  with  a  knife,  or  smoke  in  the  parlor.  The  wash 
bowl  has  been  turned  upside  down  to  keep  us  from 
using  it.  With  this  side  up  it  holds  about  a  pint  and 
a  half,  and  as  I  was  washing  my  face  with  the  tips 
of  my  fingers  they  surveyed  me  with  a  look  of  unut 
terable  despair.  When  I  raise  my  workin'  boots  on 
the  banister  rail  for  an  evening  rest  they  wipe  it  off 
with  a  wet  rag  as  soon  as  I  leave.  I  musn't  step  on 
the  purty  red  hearth  to  make  a  fire  or  put  a  back  log 


BILL   AKP.  151 

on  that  weighs  fifty  pounds.  They  Ve  put  pillows  on 
my  bed  about  half  as  big  as  a  bale  of  cotton  and 
fringed  all  round  like  a  petticoat.  They  are  to  stay 
on  in  day  time  and  be  taken  off  at  night.  When  I'm 
tired  and  feel  the  need  of  a  midday  nap  that  bed  was 
a  comfort,  but  the  best  I  can  do  now  is  to  sit  up  in 
my  chair  and  nod.  The  dogs  don't  understand  the 
new  system  at  all.  Old  Bows  has  been  coming  in  the 
house  to  the  fire  or  lying  in  the  piazza  for  fourteen 
years,  and  it  does  seem  impossible  to  break  him  of 
it  in  a  sudden  though  dogmatic  manner.  Broom- 
handles  and  fishing-poles  move  'em  out  at  one  door, 
but  they  slip  in  at  another. 

I  think  the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  vamoose  the 
ranch  and  take  the  dogs  and  cats  and  children  with 
me.  We  can  sleep  on  the  hay  in  the  loft  and  eat 
peas  and  drink  water  and  swell  to  keep  from  starv- 
in'.  Maybe  Mrs.  Arp  and  the  girls  will  take  pity  on 
us  then  and  let  us  come  back  to  the  old  regulations. 
Y/hen  the  cousins  come  all  will  be  well.  I  wish  they 
were  here  now. 


152  BILL    ARP. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


BAD  LUCK  IN  THE  FAMILY. 

It  's  bad  luck  now  at  our  house.  One  of  those  pecu 
liar  spells  when  everything  goes  wrong  and  nobody 
to  blame  for  it.  Saw  the  new  moon  through  a  brush, 
I  reckon.  On  Monday,  two  of  my  pigs,  just  littered, 
got  drowned  in  the  branch;  Tuesday  my  shoats  got 
into  my  potato  patch ;  Wednesday  a  nigger  was  found 
struttin'  around  town  with  my  equestrian  walking 
cane,  which  was  a  present,  and  which  I  dident  know 
was  lost,  and  yesterday  morning  while  Mrs.  Arp  was 
away,  I  thought  it  was  a  good  time  to  cut  little  Jes 
sie's  hair  off,  for  it  was  continually  gittin'  down  over 
her  eyes  like  any  other  country  gal's,  and  so  I  shin 
gled  it  all  over  after  a  fashion  of  my  own,  and  when 
her  mother  came  home  I  dident  know  at  first  but 
what  she  had  took  the  highsterics,  but  I  soon  found 
out  better  without  much  assistance,  if  any,  and  all 
that  day  I  had  right  smart  business  away  from  the 
house.  I  gently  suggested  that  it  was  all  owin'  to  the 
way  she  looked  at  the  moon,  but  that  dident  screen 
anything,  for  you  see  she  was  countin'  on  showin'  off 
the  child  at  the  fair,  and  now  she  can't.  I  am  hope 
ful,  however,  that  when  the  ambrosial  locks  grow  out 
again  our  conjugal  life  will  once  more  be  calm  and 
sereen.  Husbands !  fathers !  martyrs  to  wedded  bliss, 
don't  cut  your  little  girl's  hair  off  without  permis 
sion—don't. 

It  looks  like  my  bad  luck  comes  all  in  a  bunch. 
You  see,  I  had  dug  a  flower  pit  and  rigged  it  up  with 


BILL    AKP.  153 

shelves  and  put  glass  windows  in  the  top  of  it,  and 
Mrs.  Arp  and  the  girls  had  managed  one  way  and 
another  to  fill  it  with  geraniums  and  all  sorts  of 
pretty  things,  and  some  of  them  were  in  bloom  and 
everything  growing  so  nice  and  smelt  so  sweet  and 
the  women  folks  were  proud  of  'em  and  nursed  them 
and  watered  them  and  showed  them  to  everybody; 
but  yesterday  they  discovered  some  little  varmints, 
about  as  big  as  a  gnat,  were  gathering  on  the  leaves 
and  doing  damage,  and  when  they  told  me  about  it,  I 
didn't  say  nothing,  but  I  thought  I  knew  what  would 
kill  'em,  for  I  had  tried  it  in  the  hen  house,  and  it 
worked  like  a  charm.  So  I  got  some  sulphur  and  put 
in  an  old  pan  and  set  it  afire  and  shut  down  the 
sash.  Well,  I've  killed  all  the  bugs,  that's  a  fact, 
and  the  misery  of  it  is  I  have  killed  most  everything 
else.  I'm  not  going  to  enlarge  upon  the  melancholy 
consequences,  but  will  just  say  I  wish  my  folks  would 
put  on  mourning  and  be  done  with  it.  I  can't  stand 
this  sort  of  resigned  sadness  that's  hovering  over  us 
much  longer.  If  they  would  tear  around  and  cut  up 
awhile  and  quit,  I  wouldent  mind  it,  but  this  droop 
ing  way  they've  got  of  going  to  the  flower-pit  like  it 
was  a  graveyard  is  just  a-killin  me.  They  don't  say 
nothing,  so  I  have  been  reading  history  for  consola 
tion. 

Old  Bows  is  dead,  my  loving  and  trusty  friend,  the 
defender  of  my  children,  the  protector  of  my  house 
hold  in  the  dark  and  silent  watches  of  the  night.  For 
thirteen  years  he  has  been  both  fond  and  faithful, 
and  now  we  feel  like  one  of  the  family  is  dead.  Bows 
was  the  best  judge  of  human  nature  I  ever  saw.  He 
knew  an  honest  man  and  a  gentleman  by  instinct.  He 
never  frightened  a  woman  or  a  child— he  never  went 
tearing  down  the  front  walk  after  anybody,  but  the 


154  BILL    ARP. 

very  looks  of  him  would  mighty  nigh  scare  a  nigger 
to  death.  When  they  had  to  come  to  our  house  they 
begun  to  holler  " hello"  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off. 
Bows  loved  to  skeer  'em,  he  did.  He  had  character 
and  emotions.  Having  no  tail  to  wag  (for  he  was  not 
cur-tailed)  he  did  the  best  that  he  could  and  wagged 
where  it  ought  to  be.  Bows  was  a  dark  brindle.  He 
was  a  dog  of  ancestors.  His  father  was  named  Shy- 
lock,  and  his  grand-father's  name  was  Sheriff.  They 
were  all  honorable  dogs.  He  was  not  quarrelsome 
or  fussy.  I  never  knew  him  to  run  up  and  down  a 
nabor's  pailings  after  the  dog  on  the  other  side.  He 
was  above  it— but  he  never  dodged  a  responsibility. 
He  has  come  in  violent  personal  contact  with  other 
dogs  a  thousand  times,  more  or  less,  and  was  never 
the  bottom  dog  in  the  fight.  And  then  what  an  honest 
voice  he  had.  His  bark  was  not  on  the  C,  but  it  was 
a  deep,  short  basso  profundo.  We  have  buried  him 
on  the  brow  of  the  hill  where  he  used  to  sit  and  watch 
for  tramps  and  stragglers.  Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid 
him  down.  Talk  about  your  sheep— I  wouldn't  have 
given  him  for  a  whole  flock.  Sheep  are  to  eat  and 
wear,  but  Bows  was  a  friend.  It's  like  comparing 
appetite  with  emotion — the  animal  with  the  spiritual. 
But  I  am  done  now.  Let  Harris  press  on  his  dog 
law.  I've  got  nothin'  agin  sheep— in  fact,  I  like  'em. 
Ever  since  Mary  had  a  little  lamb  I  've  thought  kindly 
of  sheep,  and  I  am  perfectly  willin'  to  a  law  that  will 
exterminate  all  hounds  and  suck-egg  pups  and  yaller 
dogs  and  bench-leg  fices.  They  are  a  reflection  on 
Bows'  memory. 

Yesterday  morning  about  the  broke  of  day  a  big 
clap  of  thunder  come  along  and  shook  a  month's  rain 
out  of  the  clouds  in  half  an  hour.  My  old  friend 


BILL   AKP.  155 

Peckerwood  says  he's  lived  here  thirty-five  years  and 
never  seed  the  like  before.  It  dident  rain  nor  pour, 
but  just  come  down  in  horizontal  sheets,  and  the  little 
branches  turned  into  creeks,  and  the  creeks  into  riv 
ers  and  they  swelled  out  of  their  channels  and  all 
over  the  bottom  land,  and  tore  down  fences  and 
bridges  and  water-gates  and  carried  off  rails  and 
planks  and  watermelons  and  punkins,  and  the  low 
ground  corn  ain't  nigh  as  high  as  it  was,  and  there's 
a  dozen  places  in  the  farm  where  my  nabor's  hogs 
can  walk  into  my  fields  and  help  themselves  if  they 
want  to,  you  know,  for  I  never  saw  a  gate  open  or 
the  bars  down  that  there  wasent  an  educated  hog  in 
sight  somewhere.  I  reckon  a  hundred  people  have 
told  me  I  had  the  well-wateredest  farm  in  the  coun 
ty,  and  now  I  believe  it;  but  if  you  know  of  a  man 
who  has  got  one  that  ain  't  quite  so  well-watered,  and 
is  a  mile  or  two  high,  and  not  subject  to  the  avalanch, 
and  I  keep  in  my  present  humor,  please  send  him 
along  and  I'll  swap. 

Everywhere  that  a  fence  crossed  a  slew  or  a  branch 
it's  washed  away  for  a  dozen  panels,  and  the  big  long 
logs  that  swung  the  water  gates  are  gone,  and  the 
plank  fences  on  both  sides  of  the  big  road  are  gone, 
and  now  it  takes  all  the  hands  and  the  dogs  to  keep 
the  nabor's  hogs  back  while  we  are  repairin'  dam 
ages,  and  reminds  me  of  the  time  we  used  to  guard 
the  road  to  keep  the  small-pox  from  comin'  to  town. 

The  meandering  swine  whose  f  ourf  athers  ran  down 
into  the  sea  have  been  perusin'  the  pasture,  and  now 
it's  open  to  the  tater  patch,  and  so  we've  had  to  pen 
up  everything  in  the  barn-yard  together,  and  the  old 
sow  has  been  samplin'  the  young  chickens,  and  the 
Governor  (that's  our  man  cow)  tried  to  horn  Gen- 


156  BILL    ARP. 

era!  Gordon,  the  finest  colt  perhaps  you  ever  laid 
your  eyes  on;  and  this  morning  as  I  was  a  movin' 
about  with  alacrity,  Mrs.  Arp  told  me  the  flour  was 
out  and  I  told  her  to  run  us  on  shorts,  and  she  said 
the  shorts  was  out,  and  I  hollered  back  to  run  us  on 
meal,  and  she  said  the  meal  was  out,  and  then  I  sur 
rendered  and  had  some  wheat  and  corn  sent  to  the 
mill,  and  in  about  an  hour  Ealph  come  back  and  said 
one  mill  dam  had  washed  away  and  the  other  mill 
had  up  the  rocks  a  peckin'  of  'em,  and  the  creek  was 
still  a  risin'  and  he  couldn't  cross  any  more,  and  I 
sent  him  to  one  nabor  to  borrow  and  they  had  locked 
up  and  gone  a  visiting  and  another  nabor  didn't  have 
but  a  handful  in  the  house,  and  so  here  we  are  jest 
a  perishin'  to  death  in  the  name  of  the  State,  and  if 
you  and  your  folks  have  got  any  bowels  now  is  the 
time  to  extend  to  me  and  my  folks  your  far  reachin' 
sympathies— ain't  it? 

And  Mrs.  Arp  thought  it  a  good  day  to  clean  up 
the  kitchen  and  scour  up  the  pans  and  cook-vessels, 
and  the  girls  said  shorely  nobody  would  come  foolin' 
around  in  such  wether,  and  they  went  to  moppin'  and 
sloppin'  over  the  house,  and  shore  enuf  about  four 
o'clock  this  evenin'  p.  m.,  in  the  afternoon  a  couple 
of  nice  young  gentlemen  swum  their  horses  all  the 
way  from  town  to  get  to  see  'em,  and  there  was  no 
darkey  to  open  the  door  and  my  black-eyed  Poca- 
hontas  had  it  to  do,  and  she  got  behind  it  and  hid 
and  ax'd  'em  in,  and  about  sundown  I  come  home 
and  I  told  'em  I  was  agoin'  to  put  up  their  nags  and 
they  must  stay  all  night,  which  was  the  boldest  ven 
ture  on  the  least  capital  I  ever  made  in  my  life,  but 
they  respectfully  declined,  which  was  fortunate  for 
them,  for  although  bright  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks  and 


BILL    AKP.  157 

bang'd  up  hair  may  have  some  effect  on  a  young 
man's  heart,  they  are  mighty  little  comfort  to  his 
stomach— ain't  they? 

And  it  ain't  done  freshin'  yet,  for  the  frogs  are 
croakin'  and  the  air  is  full  of  swet  and  the  salt  sticks 
together  and  the  camphor  bottle  is  cloudy,  and  I 
don't  think  Mrs.  Arp  is  as  smilin'  as  usual,  and  all  of 
these  signs  hardly  ever  fail  at  once,  you  know. 

Such  is  life  and  I  can't  help  it.  The  bad  and  the 
good,  the  wet  and  the  dry,  is  all  mixed  up  together. 
I  have  spread  forth  my  trouble  and  feel  better. 
There's  lots  of  folks  in  my  fix,  and  I  want  'em  to 
know  I  sympathize.  I  'm  sorry  for  'em,  and  if  they 
are  sorry  for  me  it's  all  right.  As  Cobe  says,  it's  all 
right.  We  have  got  a  power  of  good  things  to  be 
thankful  for.  A  little  boy  was  drowned  in  my  na- 
bor's  mill-pond  yesterday,  but  he  wasn't  mine.  The 
doctor  passes  my  house  most  every  day,  but  he  don't 
stop.  There  was  a  barn  full  of  corn  and  mules  burnt 
up  in  the  settlement  last  week,  but  it  wasent  mine. 
The  poor-house  is  just  up  the  road  a  piece,  but  we 
don't  board  there.  I'm  not  a  candidate  for  any  office. 
I've  got  plenty  to  eat  right  now,  and  when  we  get 
tired  of  our  homely  fare  we  can  just  step  over  to 
nabor  Freeman's  and  fare  better.  There's  nothing 
like  having  a  good  nabor  in  eating  distance—for  we 
don't  have  to  dress  up  nor  put  on  any  particular 
style  about  it,  but  just  send  up  word  we  are  coming 
up  to  supper  and  it's  all  right.  Folks  can't  do  that 
way  in  town. 


158  BILL    AKP. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOE  MONEY. 

I  don't  hear  of  many  folks  getting  rich.  I  don't 
know  of  but  a  few  who  are  making  more  than  a  good 
fair  living,  and  there 's  ten  to  one  who  are  powerfully 
scrouged  to  do  that.  The  majority  of  mankind  are 
always  on  a  strain.  Most  of  them  work  hard  enough, 
but  somehow  or  somehow  other,  they  can't  get  ahead, 
and  a  good  many  are  in  old  Plunket's  fix  who  said  he 
was  even  with  the  world,  for  he  owed  about  as  much 
as  he  dident  owe.  Some  folks  are  just  like  hogs. 
They  won't  stay  in  one  place  or  keep  at  one  business 
long  enough  to  make  anything,  but  are  always  a  root 
ing  and  ranging  around  for  new  places.  I've  noticed 
children  picking  blackberries— some  will  stay  at  a 
bush  until  they  have  gathered  'em  all  and  others  will 
spend  nearly  all  the  time  in  hunting  for  a  better 
place.  You  can  tell  'em  by  their  buckets  when  they 
get  home.  My  good  old  father  used  to  say  he  never 
knew  a  man  to  stick  closely  to  a  business  for  ten  years 
but  what  he  made  money— that  is,  excepting  preach 
ing  and  politics.  The  one  don't  want  to  make  it  and 
the  other  can't  keep  it,  as  a  general  rule,  for  money 
made  easy  goes  easy.  When  a  lawyer  gets  five  dol 
lars  for  writing  a  deed  he  spends  it  before  night,  but 
if  he  had  to  make  ten  bushels  of  corn  to  get  it  he 
would  carry  it  in  his  pocket  just  as  long  as  he  could. 
It's  altogether  another  sort  of  a  V.  But  it's  all 
right,  provided  we  are  happy,  and  I  don't  think  there 
is  much  difference  in  this  respect  between  the  poor 


BILL    AKP.  159 

and  the  rich.  I  used  to  be  sorter  envious  of  rich  peo 
ple,  and  wondered  at  Providence  for  letting  them 
have  so  much  more  than  they  needed,  but  I  ain't 
now ;  I  Ve  got  more  sense,  for  I  perceive  they  are  no 
happier  than  I  am,  and  then,  besides,  when  they  be 
gin  to  get  old  their  grip  weakens,  and  they  build  up 
colleges  and  churches,  and  orphans'  homes,  and 
establish  libraries  and  other  institutions.  If  they 
don't  do  that,  their  children  get  it,  and  as  a  general 
rule  they  scatter  it  all  before  they  die,  for  it  comes 
easy  and  will  go  the  same  way.  So  it's  all  right  in 
the  long  run  and  if  it  ain't  I  can't  help  it,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  grieve  over  what  I  can't  remedy.  Hon 
est  industry  and  a  contented  disposition  is  the  best 
insurance  company  for  happiness  in  this  world  and 
will  make  a  man  independent  of  fine  houses  and  fine 
clothes  and  the  luxuries  of  life  on  the  one  side,  and 
court  houses  and  jails  and  pinching  poverty  on  the 
other.  It  seems  to  me  that  somebody  has  said  some 
thing  like  this  before,  but  I'll  say  it  again  anyhow. 
There's  one  thing  I  consider  settled— my  children 
will  have  no  chance  to  waste  and  squander  my 
money,  for  there  won't  be  any  left  to  speak  of  and 
it  will  be  such  a  long  division  the  fractions  will  be 
too  small  to  fuss  about.  Turn  about  is  fair  play,  and 
if  we  take  care  of  them  in  infancy  and  youth  and 
spend  the  last  dollar  we  get  on  'em,  they  must  look 
after  us  when  we  get  old  and  helpless— and  they  will, 
I  know.  We've  tried  to  make  their  young  lives 
happy.  I've  mighty  nigh  wore  myself  out  playing 
horse  and  marbles  and  carrying  'em  on  my  back,  and 
rolling  'em  in  a  wheelbarrow,  and  doing  a  thousand 
things  to  please  'em,  and  that's  more  than  a  rich  man 
will  do,  who  is  all  absorbed  in  stocks  and  bonds  and 
speculation,  and  goes  home  at  night  with  money  on 


160  BILL   ARP. 

the  brain.  He's  no  father— he  ain't;  he's  a  machine. 
The  average  family  man  is  hard  run.  There's  no 
body  perishing  or  freezing  in  this  sunny  land,  and 
very  few  folks  boarding  at  the  poor-house,  but  still 
there  is  a  general  struggle  going  on  in  the  town  and 
the  country.  Most  everybody  is  in  debt  more  or  less, 
and  what  one  crop  don't  pay  has  to  lap  over  on  the 
next.  The  merchants  say  that  money  is  awful  tight 
right  now,  and  I  reckon  it  is.  I'm  sorry  for  the  mer 
chants,  for  as  a  general  thing  money  is  their  sole 
dependence.  If  he  hasent  got  any  money  he  is  a 
busted  institution,  and  that  is  where  the  advantage 
of  being  a  farmer  comes  in.  He  can  be  out  of  money 
and  still  squeeze  along,  for  he  has  corn  and  wheat 
and  sheep  and  hogs  and  chickens,  and  don't  have  to 
wear  store  clothes  to  any  great  extent,  and  his  chil 
dren  can  wear  their  old  ones  a  long  time  and  go  bare 
headed  and  bare  footed  when  there's  no  company 
around.  Town  folks  have  to  dress  better  and  dress 
oftener,  whether  they  can  pay  for  'em  or  not.  But 
it  is  a  hard  time  all  round  to  make  a  living,  and  I 
don 't  know  exactly  what  is  the  matter.  The  average 
family  is  not  extravagant.  They  understand  the 
situation  at  home  and  try  to  conform,  but  it  looks  like 
they  are  just  obleeged  to  fudge  a  little  and  go  in  debt, 
and  then  the  misery  begins.  When  the  good  man  gets 
his  mail  from  the  post-office  he  is  most  afraid  to  open 
it  for  fear  of  a  dun.  These  darned  little  just  debts, 
as  Saul  McCarney  used  to  call  'em,  hang  around  like 
a  shadow.  The  four  D's  are  mighty  close  kin— debt, 
duns,  death  and  the  devil— and  one  is  nearly  as  wel 
come  as  the  other.  A  man  who  was  born  rich  and 
managed  to  keep  so,  or  a  man  who  was  born  poor  and 
has  gotten  rich,  don't  know  much  about  the  horror  of 


BILL   AKP.  161 

debt  and  hasent  got  much  sympathy  for  the  debtor 
class  and  is  very  apt  to  lay  it  all  to  their  imprudence 
or  bad  management,  but  the  fact  is  most  of  our  rich 
men  got  a  start  before  the  war  or  built  up  on  the 
ruins  of  it  before  society  with  its  extravagance  got 
hold  of  'em.  They  couldent  do  it  now.  I  know  lots 
of  rich  men  who,  if  they  were  to  lose  their  fortunes, 
couldent  start  now  and  make  another.  They  think 
they  could,  but  they  couldent ;  mankind  are  too  smart 
and  too  sharp  now  for  an  old-fashioned  man  to  stand 
any  chance.  He  would  get  licked  up  in  his  first  ex 
periment.  Money  makes  money  and  money  can  keep 
money  after  it  is  made,  but  there  is  a  small  chance  now 
for  a  young  man  to  make  money  and  save  it  and  keep 
in  gunshot  of  society.  He  can  bottle  himself  up  and 
remain  a  bachelor  and  turn  his  back  on  society  and 
accumulate  a  fortune,  but  the  trouble  is  that  most  of 
'em  want  to  marry  and  ought  to  marry,  and  if  he 
bottles  himself  up  and  spends  nothing  and  dresses 
common  he  is  not  the  sort  of  man  the  girls  are  wait 
ing  for.  And  so  if  he  spends  freely  and  rides  around, 
he  is  apt  to  get  married,  and  then  comes  house  rent 
and  servant's  hire  and  clothes  according,  and  he 
squeezes  along  and  is  always  on  the  strain.  There 
are  mighty  few  getting  rich  now-a-days,  but  when  a 
man  does  get  a  start,  he  can  get  richer  than  they  used 
to.  A  half  a  million  now  is  about  what  fifty  thou 
sand  used  to  be.  But  the  average  man  is  not  going 
to  get  rich,  and  I  reckon  it  is  the  common  lot,  and 
therefore  it  is  all  right.  Nobody  ought  to  distress 
himself  about  it,  or  hanker  after  money,  but  some 
how  I  can't  help  wishing  that  our  common  people 
were  a  little  better  off. 

Let  us  encourage  the  boys— the  rising  young  men 
(ii) 


162  BILL    AEP. 

and  middle  aged  men.  Let  us  pat  'em  on  the  back 
and  point  to  the  flag  and  say,  ' '  Excelsior. ' '  It  will 
help  'em  climb  the  mountain.  Jesso— but  I  said 
awhile  back  that  this  generation  will  not  produce  men 
as  grand  as  our  fathers,  and  it  won't.  There  are  no 
young  men  who  give  promise  of  equaling  Clay  or 
Webster  or  Calhoun  or  Crawford  or  Forsyth  or 
Troup  or  Howell  Cobb  or  Toombs,  in  the  days  of  his 
splendor,  or  Stephens  or  Joseph  Henry  Lumpkin  or 
Warner  or  Walter  T.  Colquitt,  and  a  score  of  others 
I  could  name.  I  am  talking  about  grand  men — men 
who  stood  away  above  their  fellows  and  adorned  so 
ciety  like  mountains  adorn  and  dignify  a  landscape. 
Nobody  is  to  blame  about  it  that  I  know  of,  for  it 
comes  according  to  nature's  laws  and  the  decrees  of 
Providence,  and  I  reckon  it 's  all  right.  Those  grand 
men  of  the  olden  time  have  served  their  day  and 
accomplished  their  work.  They  moulded  manners  and 
statesmanship  and  great  principles  and  patriotism, 
and  the  masses  looked  up  to  them  and  learned  wis 
dom.  All  this  was  in  the  days  of  Southern  aristoc 
racy,  and  these  grand  men  had  abundant  leisure  and 
dident  have  to  be  on  the  wild  hunt  for  money.  It 
was  the  aristocracy  of  dominion,  for  dominion  digni 
fied  a  man  then,  and  it  does  now  just  as  it  did  in  the 
days  of  the  centurion,  who  said:  "I  say  unto  this 
man  go,  and  he  goeth,  and  to  another  come,  and  he 
cometh."  Dominion  over  men  makes  a  man  feel  a 
responsibility  that  nothing  else  does,  and  this  respon 
sibility  enlarges  his  moral  nature  and  ennobles  him 
as  a  gentleman  and  a  philosopher.  It  is  this  feeling 
that  dignifies  judges  and  railroad  presidents,  and 
captains  of  ships,  and  generals  in  armies.  They  can 
all  command  men  and  be  obeyed. 


BILL   ARP.  163 

But  the  time  came  in  the  Providence  of  God  for 
a  change.  The  masses  of  the  people  were  under  a 
cloud.  They  were  overshadowed,  and  the  wreck  of 
the  slave  aristocracy,  together  with  the  results  of  the 
war,  made  an  opening  for  them  and  their  children. 
Humbler  men  have  come  to  the  front  and  now  run 
the  machine.  The  masses  are  looming  up.  Overseers 
have  got  rich.  Poor  boys,  who  had  a  hard  time,  are 
now  our  merchant  princes.  The  old  lines  of  social 
standing  are  broken  down,  and  one  man  is  as  good  as 
another,  if  he  succeeds.  Success  is  everything  now, 
especially  success  in  making  money.  Statesmanship 
has  gone  down.  Great  learning  is  at  a  discount, 
money  makes  presidents,  and  governors  and  mem 
bers  of  Congress.  We  talk  about  a  candidate's 
"bar'l"  now  just  as  we  used  to  talk  about  his  elo 
quence  or  his  service  to  his  country.  Everywhere 
there  is  a  wild  rush  for  money,  and  it  don't  matter 
how  a  man  gets  it  so  he  gets  it. 

Now,  how  can  this  sort  of  an  age  produce  great 
men?  How  can  the  young  men  escape  the  infection? 
Where  is  any  purity  or  honor  in  politics  or  in  the 
court  house !  When  a  man  has  to  resort  to  deceit  or 
hypocrisy  or  questionable  means  to  support  his  fam 
ily  he  loses  his  self-respect,  and  when  his  self-respect 
is  gone  his  ability  to  be  a  great  man  is  gone.  He 
can't  do  it.  No  man  is  truly  great  who  is  not  honest 
and  sincere  and  a  lover  of  his  fellow-men.  A  lawyer 
who  lies  or  resorts  to  tricks— a  merchant  who  con 
ceals  the  truth  may  get  rich,  but  they  will  never  be 
great.  I  tell  you  the  grand  old  men  are  gone,  or  go 
ing,  and  their  places  will  not  be  filled  by  this  gener 
ation  nor  the  next.  The  next  generation  will  be  worse 
than  this,  for  these  people  who  have  sprung  up  and 


164  BILL   ARP. 

got  rich  are  going  to  get  richer,  and  they  will  spoil 
their  children  with  money  and  a  fashionable  educa 
tion.  They  are  doing  it  now,  and  by  and  by  these 
children  will  get  to  be  proud  and  vain  and  no  account, 
and  won't  work,  and  finally  go  down  the  hill  their 
father  climbed.  Stuck  up  vagabonds  will  marry  the 
girls,  and  the  boys  will  loaf  around  town  and  play 
billiards  and  drive  a  fast  horse.  A  man  who  was 
raised  poor  and  by  a  hard  struggle  gets  rich,  is  the 
biggest  fool  in  the  world  about  his  children.  He 
came  from  one  extreme  and  puts  his  children  on  the 
other. 

Nevertheless  I  am  hopeful,  and  if  I  do  sometimes 
take  the  shady  side,  I  mean  no  harm  by  it.  I  am  al 
ways  reconciled  to  what  I  cannot  help.  The  wild  rush 
for  a  big  pile  of  surplus  money  alarms  me,  for  the 
older  I  grow  the  surer  I  am  that  the  surplus  will  not 
bring  happiness  or  be  a  blessing  to  the  children. 
There  is  no  security  except  in  honest  industry,  and 
boys  won't  work  whose  fathers  are  rich.  Old  Agur 
was  right.  "Lord  give  me  neither  poverty  nor 
riches,  lest  if  I  be  rich  I  take  thy  name  in  vain  or  lest 
I  be  poor  and  steal."  But  there  is  some  comfort  in 
this  great  change  from  the  old  to  the  new.  The  com 
mon  people  have  a  better  chance  than  they  used  to 
have.  All  classes  are  assimilating  and  becoming 
more  alike— more  on  an  equality.  One  man  is  about 
as  good  as  another  now,  if  not  better.  The  Joe  Brown 
type  is  in  the  ascendant,  and  the  humblest  man  has 
an  equal  chance  for  the  highest  honors.  So  let  it  rip 
along,  for  a  wise  Providence  is  above  us.  *  *  * 

Cobe  says  he  "aint  makin'  a  blessed  thing— no 
corn,  no  'taters,  no  cotton,  no  nu thin '—and  Willy  is 
down  with  the  new-money,  and  the  chickens  all  die3 


BILL   ARP.  165 

with  the  cholera ; ' '  and  then  he  gave  a  three-cornered 
grin  and  squeezed  his  tobacco  between  his  teeth  as  he 
remarked,  "but,  major,  it  ain't  nigh  as  bad  as  it 
mout  be;  it  ain't  nigh  as  bad  as  war."  Then  he 
stuck  his  heels  in  the  little  mule's  flanks  and  away  he 
went  galloping  up  the  road.  There  used  to  be  a  bu 
reau  called  the  bureau  of  refugees  and  abandoned 
lands.  Cobe  says  if  them  yankees  will  revive  it  now 
he  is  about  ready  to  jine  the  concern.  Says  he  will 
do  most  anything  except  beg  or  steal,  or  go  to  the 
poor  house.  So  when  I  feel  melancholy  I  think  about 
Cobe  and  cheer  up.  The  truth  is,  we  all  borrow  too 
much  trouble.  It  is  better  to  look  back  once  in  awhile 
and  recall  the  vast  amount  of  fears  and  forebodings 
that  were  wasted  and  maybe  that  will  give  us  bright 
er  hopes  of  the  future. 

********** 

There's  a  new  lot  of  boys  a  circulatin'  around  us 
now.  Grand-children  have  come  to  visit  us  and  see 
the  spring  show  open  in  our  country  home.  Penned 
up  for  months  in  a  little  city,  they  have  lived  in  a 
sort  of  prison  home  and  feel  now  like  school  boys 
when  recess  comes— want  to  go  out  and  rock  some 
body.  They  hardly  took  time  to  kiss  and  say  howdy 
and  shuck  off  their  store  clothes  before  they  were 
off— dabblin'  in  the  branch,  rockin'  the  ducks  in  the 
little  pond,  f  rightenin '  the  ganders  as  they  stand  guard 
over  their  sitting  mates,  digging  bait,  fishing  for  min- 
ners,  rollin'  an  old  hogshead  down  the  hill,  breakm"* 
the  bull  calf  and  every  half  hour  sendin'  to  grandma 
for  some  more  gingerbread.  Here  they  go  and  there 
they  go,  while  their  poor  mother  jumps  up  every  five 
minutes  to  see  if  they  havent  got  killed  or  drowned 
or  turned  over  the  hen-house.  She  like  to  have  took  a 


166  BILL   ARP. 

fit  this  mornin'  as  she  looked  out  of  the  window  and 
seen  'em  coming  down  the  big  road  with  a  calf  a 
pullin'  a  little  wagon  with  gum-log  wheels.  One  a 
pullin'  haw,  another  pullin'  gee,  and  four  of  'em  a 
ridin'  and  all  a  hollerin'  tell  they  made  such  a  racket 
the  calf  took  a  panic  and  run  away  with  the  whole 
concern  and  never  stopped  tell  he  got  in  the  branch 
and  landed  their  gable  ends  in  the  water. 

Blessings  on  the  children  and  the  children's  chil 
dren.  How  I  do  love  to  have  'em  around  and  see  'em 
frolic,  and  ever  and  anon  hear  one  squall  with  a  cut 
finger  or  a  stumped  toe,  or  the  bark  knocked  off  his 
hide  somewhere.  What  a  pity  they  have  got  to  grow 
up  and  see  trouble  and  be  sent  to  the  legislature  or 
congress,  and  there  get  a  little  behind  in  morals  and 
money.  But  sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof. 

My  little  boy  geared  up  an  imitation  bug  last  night, 
made  of  black  cloth  with  horse-hair  legs— an  awful 
looking  varmint— and  slyly  swung  it  before  me  on  a 
stick,  and  I  had  like  to  have  a  fit,  trying  to  knock  the 
ugly  thing  out  of  my  face.  The  little  rascal  just  laid 
down  and  hollered,  and  the  family  ain't  done  laugh 
ing  about  it  till  yet.  Mrs.  Arp  sometimes  tells  me  I 
let  them  take  too  many  liberties  with  the  dignity  of 
their  paternal  ancestor,  but  it's  all  right,  I  reckon. 
And  I  noticed  the  other  night  when  the  girls  jerked 
her  up  from  the  sofa  and  whirled  her  round  the  room 
to  the  music  of  the  dance,  she  submitted  to  it  with  a 
humility  and  a  grace  that  was  impressive.  I  like  that. 
I  like  an  affectionate  familiarity  between  parents 
and  children,  though  I  want  it  understood  that  I'm 
the  boss  of  the  family,  that  is,  when  Mrs.  Arp  is 
away  from  home.  I  give  'em  butter  on  their  biscuit 
ds  a  regular  thing,  but  when  I  put  sugar  on  the  butter 
I  expect  'em  to  be  more  than  ordinarily  grateful. 


BILL    ARP.  167 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


NEW  YEAK'S  TIME. 

I  was  discoursing  Mrs.  Arp,  my  wife,  about  that 
last  night.  You  see,  it  was  New  Year,  and  I  called  on 
her.  I  dident  have  any  swallow-tail  coat  and  white 
kids,  but  I  called.  I  had  procured  a  bunch  of  missel- 
toe  full  of  pearly  berries,  and  I  got  the  girls  to  make 
it  into  a  wreath  with  some  heliotrope  blossoms,  and 
sweet  violets,  and  geraniums,  and  strawberry  blooms 
which  they  had  in  the  pit,  and  as  she  sat  by  the  par 
lor  fire  I  came  in  and  addressed  her :  l '  Fair  lady,  I 
come  with  the  New  Year 's  greeting.  May  it  bring  you 
joy  and  peace,  and  love  and  rest,  and  happy  days. 
Thirty  long  years  of  devotion  and  arduous  duty  in 
the  infantry  service  of  your  country  entitles  you  to 
be  crowned  the  queen  of  love  and  beauty.  Allow  me 
to  encircle  your  brow  with  this  wreath."  She  en 
joyed  that  first-rate,  and  when  the  girls  took  off  the 
chaplet  to  show  it  to  her,  she  remarked  with  a  touch 
of  sadness,  "It  is  very  beautiful,  but  your  promising 
parent  has  been  promising  me  a  tiara  of  diamonds 
for  thirty  years,  and  now  he  pays  me  off  in  mistletoe 
and  flowers."  "Solomon,"  said  I,  "in  all  his  glory, 
had  no  such  gems  as  these.  You  know,  my  dear,  I 
have  always  desired  to  be  able  to  purchase  a  dia 
mond  ring  and  breast-pin  and  a  diamond  tiara  for 
you,  not  that  you  need  any  ornaments  to  make  you 
beautiful  and  attractive,  for  all  the  gems  of  Golconda 
could  add  nothing  to  your  natural  loveliness." 


168  BILL    ARP. 

"Ralph,"  said  she,  "your  father  has  got  a  fit;  you 
had  better  throw  some  water  on  him. ' ' 

1  i  But  then, ' '  continued  I,  ' i  the  love  of  ornament  is 
natural  to  women ;  Isaac  knew  her  weakness  when  he 
sent  Rebecca  the  ear-rings  and  bracelets.  The  ear 
rings  weighing  half  a  shekel  apiece,  which,  accord 
ing  to  the  tables,  made  the  pair  worth  exactly  sixty- 
two  and  a  half  Cents.  It  rejoices  me,  my  dear,  that 
I  shall  soon  be  able  to  present  you  with  a  full  set  of 
genuine  diamonds  of  the  first  water. ' ' 

"When  did  you  get  so  suddenly  rich?"  says  she. 
"Have  you  drawn  a  prize  in  a  lottery?"  "Not  at  all, 
by  no  means,"  said  I.  "But  a  London  chemist  has 
just  discovered  how  to  make  diamonds  of  charcoal. 
They  have  known  for  20  years  how  to  make  charcoal 
out  of  diamonds,  but  now  they  reverse  the  process 
and  pure  diamonds  will  soon  be  manufactured  on  a 
large  scale,  and  it  is  predicted  will  be  sold  at  about  8 
dollars  a  bushel.  When  they  get  down  to  that  price, 
my  dear,  I  am  going  to  buy  you  a  whole  quart  and 
you  can  string  'em  all  over  you  and  cook  in  'em  and 
wash  in  'em  and  make  up  the  beds  in  'em.  I'm  going 
to  stick  a  kohinoor  in  the  end  of  the  broom  handle. 
What  do  you  think  of  that,  my  dear,  won't  it  be  ele 
gant?" 

"No  it  won't"  said  she.  "I  don't  want  any  of 
your  charcoal  diamonds.  Eight  dollars  a  bushel  is  25 
cents  for  the  quart  you  propose  to  spend  on  me.  I 
wouldn't  be  so  extravagant  if  I  were  you.  No,  I 
thank  you.  Isaac  spent  more  than  that  on  Rebecca, 
and  didn't  hurt  himself.  Buy  me  a  carriage  and 
horses  and  I'll  do  without  the  diamonds.  They  were 
intended  for  homely  folks,  and  I  am  so  beautiful  and 
lovely  I  don't  need  them.  Suppose  you  try  me  with 


BILL    ARP.  169 

a  pearl  necklace.  I  reckon  your  London  man  is  not 
making  pearls  out  of  charcoal,  is-he  ? ' ' 

"Why,  that's  an  old  trick, "  said  I.  "Parisian 
jewelers  have  them  at  fifty  cents  a  string  and  you 
can't  tell  them  from  the  genuine.  What  does  it  mat 
ter  if  they  are  cheap  so  they  are  beautiful?  What 
are  all  the  gems  of  the  ocean  to  be  compared  to  these 
fragrant  and  lovely  flowers  that  cost  us  nothing? 
Beautiful  flowers  that  'weep  without  woe  and  blush 
without  a  crime.'  I  never  liked  golden  ornaments, 
nohow;  as  Tom  Hood  says,  it's  ' bright  and  yellow, 
hard  and  cold;'  you  can't  tell  it  from  brass  without 
close  inspection,  and  it  wouldent  be  worn  as  jewelry 
if  it  was  cheap.  I  wish  everything  was  cheap— cheap 
as  the  air  and  the  water.  Then  we  wouldent  be  tied 
down  to  one  little  spot  all  the  time,  but  we  would 
travel— we  would  go  to  Florida  and  California  and 
London  and  Paris  and  all  over  the  Alps,  and  see  the 
pyramids  and  the  city  of  Jerusalem,  and  when  we 
got  tired  we  would  come  back  home  again  and  rest. 
Wouldent  that  be  splendid?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Arp.  "All  that  is  very  ro 
mantic,  but  it  sounds  very  much  like  *  college  talk,' 
as  old  Mr.  Dobbins  would  say.  Whenever  he  hears 
anybody  gassing  around  or  talking  extraordinary  he 
says,  'Oh,  that  don't  amount  to  anything.  Its  col 
lege  talk.'  He  says  he  never  knew  a  college-bred 
man  that  didn't  build  air-castles,  and  imagine  a  heap 
more  than  ever  come  in  sight.  We  are  right  here  on 
this  farm  and  we  will  never  see  California  nor  the 
pyramids,  and  I'll  never  see  the  diamonds  nor  the 
pearls,  and  I  don't  care  to,  but  I  never  like  cheap 
things  for  they  are  not  much  account— so  we'll  fall 
back  on  the  flowers,  and  when  you  have  a  little  money 


170  BILL    ABP. 

to  spare  I  want  to  send  on  for  a  few  choice  ones  and 
a  collection  of  seed.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"I  do,  madam,"  said  I,  "you  are  a  sensible  wo 
man.  You  shall  have  the  money  if  I  have  to  sell  my 
Sunday  boots.  '  Bring  flowers,  bring  flowers  to  the 
fair  young  bride. '  ' ' 

I  believe  it's  a  good  rule  for  everybody  to  attend 
to  their  own  business.  The  other  night  I  was  reading 
aloud  to  the  family  about  a  feller  who  was  standing 
at  the  forks  of  the  road  with  an  umbrella  over  him, 
when  a  flock  of  sheep  came  along  and  got  tangled  up, 
and  so  he  thought  he  would  help  the  driver  by  shoo 
ing  'em  a  little  and  waving  his  umbrel.  An  old  ram 
dident  like  that  and  suddenly  made  for  him  and  went 
through  his  umbrel  like  it  was  a  paper  hoop,  and 
having  knocked  him  down  in  the  mud,  he  had  to  lay 
there  until  about  a  hundred  sheep  jumped  over  him 
one  at  a  time.  When  he  arose  and  took  in  his  dilap 
idated  condition,  he  remarked :  i  i  The  next  time  I  see 
a  drove  of  sheep  a-coming  I  reckon  I'll  attend  to  my 
own  business. ' ' 

Next  day  Mrs.  Arp,  my  wife,  was  fixing  to  grind 
up  sausage  meat  and  I  ventured  to  remark  that  if  she 
would  salt  the  pieces  before  she  put  them  through  the 
machine,  it  would  save  her  a  heap  of  trouble.  Her 
sleeved  were  rolled  up  and  as  she  looked  at  me  she 
assumed  a  chivalric  attitude  and  remarked:  "There 
will  be  an  old  ram  after  you  the  first  thing  you 
know. ' '  Of  course  I  retired  in  good  order,  and  now 
I  can 't  make  a  remark  about  domestic  affairs  without 
having  that  old  ram  thrown  up  to  me.  You  see  a 
woman  has  more  liberty  of  speech  than  a  man,  for  its 
mighty  nigh  the  only  liberty  she  has  and  I  don't  be 
grudge  her  the  use  of  it.  But  then  their  five  senses 


BILL    AKP.  171 

are  more  sensitive  and  acute  than  ours.  In  fact  I 
think  my  wife,  Mrs.  Arp,  has  seven  or  eight,  for  she 
can  come  to  a  conclusion  about  things  so  quick  it 
makes  my  head  swim,  and  I  know  she  must  have 
some  perceptions  unknown  to  the  hooks.  She  can 
hear  more  unaccountable  noises  in  the  night,  and  see 
more  dirt  on  the  floor,  and  smell  more  disagreeable 
odors  than  anybody  in  the  world.  I  won't  say  she 
can  point  partridges,  but  a  few  years  ago  our  nabor 
come  over  one  day  and  said  he  had  lost  his  dog,  and 
my  wife,  Mrs.  Arp,  laid  down  her  knitting,  and  says 
she :  ' l  That  dog  is  in  our  well.  The  water  has  tasted 
and  smelt  dog  all  day."  We  all  laughed  at  her  and 
continued  to  use  the  water  for  two  or  three  days,  but 
she  dident.  Finally,  we  give  it  up  that  something 
was  wrong,  and  I  sent  a  darkey  down  a  hundred  feet 
to  the  bottom,  and  shore  enough  there  was  the  dog. 

Well,  the  rats  took  possession  of  our  house  not  long 
ago  and  we  could  hear  'em  at  all  times  of  night  rip 
ping  around  overhead  and  playing  tag  and  leap-frog, 
till  it  was  past  endurance.  So  I  got  some  rat  poison 
that  was  warranted  to  drive  'em  away  to  water,  and 
shore  enough  they  disappeared  and  we  were  happy. 
The  next  morning  my  wife,  Mrs.  Arp,  was  snuffing 
around  about  the  mantel-piece,  and  says  she,  "Wil 
liam,  these  rats  are  dead,  but  they  never  went  after 
water— they  are  in  these  walls."  Well,  we  dident 
pay  much  attention  until  next  day,  when  some  of  the 
family  thought  there  was  a  very  faint  taint  in  the 
atmosphere.  We  waited  another  day,  and  then  had 
to  take  down  the  mantel-piece  and  found  six  dead 
ones  behind  it  as  big  as  young  squirrels,  and  we  have 
mighty  nigh  tore  the  house  all  to  pieces  hunting  foi 
the  rest  of  'em.  Fact  is,  we  had  to  quit  the  room, 


172  BILL   AKP. 

and  it's  just  gittin'  so  now  we  can  live  in  it.  There's 
no  fooling  such  a  nose  with  fraudulent  combinations. 
If  a  man  ventures  to  take  a  little  something  for  his 
stomach's  sake  and  his  often  infirmities,  she  can  tell 
what  kind  of  medicine  it  was  by  the  time  he  gets  to 
the  front  gate,  which  to  say  the  least  of  it  is  very 
inconvenient. 


BILL    AKP.  173 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


OLD  THINGS  AKE  PASSING  AWAY  AND  ALL  THINGS 
HAVE  BECOME  NEW. 

That  is  the  way  it  used  to  be  in  Scripture  times, 
and  it  is  the  same  way  now.  I  wonder  what  were 
their  old  things  1  In  those  primitive  days  there  were 
not  very  many  things  of  any  kind— not  much  inven 
tion  or  contrivance— no  steamboats,  no  steam  cars,  or 
telegraphs,  or  telephones,  or  sewing  machines,  or 
telescopes,  or  spectacles,  or  cooking  stoves,  or  reap 
ing  machines,  or  threshing  machines,  or  patent 
plows,  or  cotton  factories,  or  wool  carders,  or  printed 
books,  or  the  like.  But  still  I  suppose  they  did  im 
prove  some,  and  shook  off  the  old  ways  of  living,  and 
cooking,  and  dressing.  I  was  looking  at  a  venerable 
patch-work  quilt  the  other  day  that  a  good  old  lady 
made  some  forty  years  ago,  and  it  was  very  nice 
and  pretty ;  and  right  beside  it,  on  another  bed,  was 
a  printed  one  that  was  pretty,  too.  One  cost  days 
and  weeks  of  labor,  and  the  fingers  got  tired,  and  so 
did  the  eyes,  and  I  reckon  the  back ;  and  if  the  labor 
and  time  could  be  fairly  computed,  it  was  worth 
twenty-five  dollars,  and  now  one  can  be  made  for  a 
dollar  that  is  just  as  good  and  just  as  pretty.  What 
a  world  of  trouble  our  forefathers  and  f oremothers 
had !  And  yet  they  were  just  as  happy  and  got  along 
about  as  easy  as  we  do.  They  dident  want  much  and 
they  dident  have  much.  They  had  simple  ways  and 
simple  habits.  They  prized  what  they  had  made  a 
good  deal  more  than  we  do  what  we  buy.  When  the 


174  BILL   AEP. 

good  housewife  put  the  last  stitch  in  a  woolen  cover 
let,  or  even  a  pair  of  woolen  socks,  she  felt  happy. 
Her  work  was  a  success  and  it  was  a  pride. 

The  other  day  I  received  a  present  of  a  pair  of 
socks,  knit  with  golden  silk,  and  the  good  old  lady 
wrote  me  a  note  with  her  trembling  fingers  that  this 
was  the  865th  pair  that  she  had  knit  upon  the  same 
needles ;  that  she  began  more  than  half  a  century  ago 
and  had  knit  for  young  and  old,  for  silver  weddings 
and  golden  weddings,  and  for  weddings  that  were 
new-born— when  the  lily  and  the  rose  put  their  first 
blush  upon  the  maiden's  cheek;  that  she  had  knit 
scores  of  pairs  for  the  soldiers  in  the  last  terrible 
war,  both  in  the  field  and  in  the  hospital,  and  that  she 
had  never  lost  any  time  from  her  other  household 
duties,  but  knit  only  after  her  other  labors  were  done. 

Well,  it  is  a  wonderful  amount  of  work  to  think 
about.  I  know  some  venerable  women,  who  are  close 
akin  and  very  dear  to  me,  who  have  been  working 
in  the  same  way,  too.  They  havent  knit  as  much,  but 
they  have  sewed  and  patched  and  darned  for  large 
households  and  never  complained.  It  is  a  world  of 
work  for  a  mother  to  keep  her  children  clothed,  es 
pecially  in  these  days  when  it  takes  more  clothes  than 
it  used  to.  How  many  little  jackets  and  waists,  and 
breeches,  and  shirts,  and  drawers,  and  petticoats,  and 
dresses,  and  aprons,  and  socks,  and  stockings !  When 
the  great  pile  of  clothes  comes  in  from  the  washer 
woman,  and  Mrs.  Arp  sits  down  beside  it  to  assort 
out  and  put  away  in  the  different  drawers,  I  look  on 
with  amazement,  and  wonder  when  she  made  them 
all.  Why,  it  takes  about  sixty  different  garments  for 
our  youngest  child,  who  is  only  ten  years  old,  and  she 
hasent  got  anything  fine— not  very  fine.  There  are 
about  ten  little  dresses,  mostly  calico,  and  a  like  num- 


BILL    ARP.  175 

her  of  undergarments  and  stockings  and  aprons,  but 
it  takes  work,  work— lots  of  work— and  the  sewing 
machine  rattles  away  most  all  the  time.  What  a  bless 
ing  that  wonderful  invention  is  to  woman,  for  society 
is  exacting  and  progressive,  and  the  families  of  mod 
erate  means  could  hardly  keep  in  sight  of  the  rich  if 
all  the  stitches  had  to  be  made  by  hand.  As  it  is, 
we  keep  up  pretty  well— that  is,  we  keep  in  a  respec 
table  distance— and  our  folks  can  fix  up  well  enough 
to  go  to  church  and  send  the  children  to  school. 

The  old  ways  were  pretty  hard  ways,  and  the  next 
generation  is  not  going  to  work  like  the  last.  I  am 
glad  that  it  won't  have  to,  for  it  is  a  waste  of  time 
and  toil  to  make  a  patch-work  quilt  now,  or  to  knit 
the  stockings,  or  to  beat  the  biscuit  dough,  or  to  bake 
them  in  a  spider  with  coals  underneath  and  coals  on 
top  of  the  heavy  old-fashioned  lid.  Our  mothers  used 
to  do  all  that  "when  niggers  was,"  but  the  cooking 
stove  came  along  just  in  the  right  time,  and  now  it 
is  much  easier  to  cook  ' '  when  niggers  wasent. ' ' 

Everything  was  hard  to  do  in  the  old  times.  It 
was  hard  to  thresh  out  the  wheat  with  a  couple  of 
hickory  flails.  I  have  swung  them  many  a  day  until 
my  arms  were  tired,  and  I  could  find  only  a  few 
bushels  under  the  straw  after  a  half  day's  work. 
But  it  made  me  strong  and  made  the  wheat  bread 
taste  mighty  good.  I  remember  the  first  cotton  gin 
that  was  put  up  in  our  country,  and  the  long  round 
bags  we  used  to  pack  with  a  crow-bar,  and  how  we 
used  to  wagon  it  to  Augusta  and  camp  out  at  night 
and  hear  the  old  trusty  wagoners  recite  their  won 
derful  adventures.  It  was  a  glorious  time  to  us  boys, 
and  when  we  got  back  home  again  and  brought  sugar, 
and  salt,  and  coffee,  and  molasses,  and  shoes  all 


176  BILL   ARP. 

round  for  white  and  black  with  the  wooden  measures 
in  them,  and  the  names  written  upon  them  all,  the 
family  was  as  happy  and  merry  as  if  Christmas  had 
come  before  its  time.  I  remember  when  a  pocket- 
knife  was  a  wonderful  treasure,  and  a  pair  of  boots 
the  height  of  all  ambition.  But  now  a  pocket-knife 
is  nothing  to  a  boy.  He  can  lose  it  in  a  month  and 
get  another,  and  if  he  isent  born  in  boots,  he  gets 
them  soon  after. 

"I  remember,  I  remember 

The  house  where  I  was  born, 
The  little  window     where  the  sun 
Came  peeping  in  at  morn. ' ' 

Well,  there  was  no  glass  in  that  window— only  a 
shutter— and  there  was  no  ceiling  overhead.  But  we 
boys  kept  warm  under  the  cover  of  a  winter  night, 
and  when  the  rain  pattered  on  the  shingle  roof  above 
us  it  was  the  sweetest  and  most  soothing  lullaby  in 
the  world.  Folks  would  complain  now  if  their  chil 
dren  had  to  put  up  with  such  a  shelter,  and  I  reckon 
they  ought  to,  for  this  generation  haven't  been  raised 
that  way  and  they  couldent  stand  it.  But  we  found 
out  during  the  war  what  we  could  stand,  and  it 
dident  take  us  very  long  to  get  used  to  it.  A  shingle 
roof  and  a  plank  window  would  have  been  a  luxury 
then.  But  even  war  is  not  as  hard  as  it  used  to  be. 
Here  is  a  road  in  front  of  my  house  that  Gen.  Jack 
son's  soldiers  cut  out,  and  it  is  called  Jackson's  road 
yet.  He  cut  it  out  for  a  hundred  miles  during  the 
war  of  1812.  In  those  days,  when  the  soldiers  wanted 
to  march  across  a  country,  they  had  to  carry  the 
roads  with  them.  They  had  to  make  them  as  they 
went  along ;  but  now  the  railroads  pick  up  an  army 
and  hurry  it  along— everything  is  lightning  now. 


BILL    AKP.  177 

Truly,  the  old  things  are  done  away.  Farewell  to 
home-made  chairs,  and  home-made  jeans,  and  the  old 
back  log,  and  the  crane  that  swung  in  the  kitchen 
fire-place,  and  to  home-made  baskets,  and  shuck  col 
lars,  and  shuck  foot-mats,  and  dominicker  chickens 
and  oldf ashioned  cows,  and  castor  oil,  and  paregoric, 
and  opodeldoc,  and  salts,  and  sassafras  tea.  Fare 
well  to  marigolds  and  pinks  and  holly-hocks,  for 
there  are  finer  flowers  now.  Farewell  to  simplicity 
of  manners,  and  water  without  ice,  and  temperate 
habits,  and  contented  dispositions.  Farewell  to 
abundance  of  time  to  come  and  to  go  and  to  stay,  for 
everybody  is  in  a  hurry  now— a  dreadful  hurry— for 
there  is  a  pressure  upon  us  all,  a  pressure  to  keep  up 
with  the  crowd,  and  the  times,  and  with  society.  Push 
ahead,  keep  moving,  is  the  watchword  now,  and  we 
must  push  or  we  will  get  run  over,  and  be  crushed 
and  forgotten. 

So  let  us  all  work  and  keep  up  if  we  can.  We  must 
fall  into  line  and  keep  step  to  the  new  music  that  is 
in  the  air.  "Old  Hundred "  is  gone,  and  "Sweet 
Home,"  and  "Kathleen  Mavourneen, ' '  and  "Billy 
in  the  Low-grounds,"  and  now  it  is  something  else 
that  passeth  comprehension.  But  there  is  no  use  in 
complaining  about  what  we  cannot  help,  for  some 
things  are  better,  even  if  others  are  worse.  We  can 
still  do  our  duty  and  put  on  the  brakes  for  our  chil 
dren.  We  can  tell  them  to  go  slow  and  go  sure.  Be 
honest.  Money  is  a  good  thing,  but  money  gained  by 
fraud  or  by  luck  will  do  no  good.  Money  earned  by 
honest,  diligent  labor  is  the  only  kind  that  will  stick 
to  a  man  and  do  good.  Money  is  a  social  apology  for 
lack  of  brains  or  lack  of  education  or  graceful  man 
ners,  but  it  is  no  apology  for  lack  of  honesty  or  good 

(12) 


178  BILL    ARP. 

principles.  Make  money,  save  money,  but  not  at  the 
sacrifice  of  self-respect  or  the  respect  of  others. 
Some  things  pay  in  the  short  run  and  for  a  little 
while,  but  honesty  and  truth  and  diligence  pay  in  the 
long  run,  and  that  is  the  run  we  have  to  die  by.  Folks 
differ  about  religion  and  politics,  but  all  mankind 
agree  on  this.  It  is  old-fashioned  talk,  I  know,  but 
some  old-fashioned  things  are  good  yet.  I  have  even 
got  respect  for  my  rheumatism,  for  it  has  stuck  by 
me  like  a  friend  for  a  long  time,  and  is  nearly  the 
only  disease  that  has  not  changed  its  name  and  its 
pain  since  I  was  a  boy. 


BILL   ARP.  179 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


BUT  ONCE  A  YEAR. 

Another  busy  year  has  gone— gone  like  the  water 
that  has  passed  over  the  dam— gone  never  to  return. 
It  has  carried  many  friends  along  with  it  and  left 
sad  memories  in  our  household,  but  on  the  whole  it 
has  been  a  good  year  to  us  all,  and  Providence  has 
been  kind.  Now  is  the  time  to  look  back  and  review 
the  past— to  take  an  account  of  stock  like  the  mer 
chants  do— a  time  to  be  thankful  for  what  we  have 
received,  and  to  compare  our  condition,  not  with 
those  who  are  better  off,  but  with  those  who  are 
worse  off. 

It  is  a  good  time  to  feel  happy,  for  there  is  some 
thing  about  Christmas  that  seems  like  a  recess  from 
a  long  year  of  work,  and  toil,  and  tribulation.  Man 
needs  just  such  a  rest  for  body,  and  mind,  and  spirit. 
These  periods  of  relaxation  prolong  life,  both  of  man 
and  beast.  If  it  were  not  for  the  Sabbath  we  would 
wear  out  before  we  get  old,  and  I  remember  reading 
a  long  time  ago  about  some  emigrants  going  over 
land  to  California.  Some  of  them  rested  their  teams 
every  Sunday,  and  some  did  not,  and  the  first  got 
there  several  days  ahead,  and  were  in  the  best  con 
dition  at  the  end  of  the  long  journey.  But  one  day 
in  seven  is  not  enough— we  want  a  whole  week  at  the 
end  of  the  year,  and  according  to  Scripture  it  is  a 
good  thing  to  have  a  whole  year  in  seven— a  year  of 
jubilee  when  even  the  land  we  till  shall  have  a  rest 
and  a  time  to  recover  itself  and  renew  its  wasted 


180  BILL   ABP. 

energies.  Blessings  on  the  holy  fathers  who  estab 
lished  the  Christmas  holidays,  and  on  the  good  men 
who  for  eighteen  centuries  have  preserved  it  for  us 
and  our  children.  It  is  a  blessed  heritage  and  be 
longs  to  all  alike— the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  bond 
and  the  free,  the  king  and  his  subject.  But  these 
good  old  ways  are  changing  and  becoming  circum 
scribed.  Christmas  used  to  last  from  the  25th  of 
December  to  the  6th  of  January,  and  for  twelve  days 
there  was  neither  work  nor  toil,  nor  official  business, 
nor  suits  for  debt,  dunning,  nor  preparations  for 
war,  but  all  was  peace  and  pleasure  and  kindly  feel 
ings.  The  peasant  was  on  a  level  with  the  prince, 
and  the  girls  and  boys  wore  chaplets  of  ivy  and  laurel 
and  holly  and  evergreen,  and  it  was  no  sin  for  them 
to  take  a  sly  kiss  while  the  rosemary  wreaths  encir 
cled  their  brows,  for  a  kiss  under  the  rose  was  an 
emblem  of  innocence  and  had  the  sanction  of  heaven, 
and  love  whispered  while  wearing  the  mistletoe 
crown  was  too  pure  to  be  lost  or  betrayed. 

I  love  the  old  superstition  that  clusters  around  this 
season  of  joy  and  gladness.  Long  did  I  lament  the 
day  when  my  childish  eyes  were  opened  and  I  learned 
there  was  no  Saint  Nicholas  nor  Santa  Claus,  no  rein 
deer  on  the  roof,  no  coming  down  the  chimney  to  fill 
the  stockings  that  hung  by  the  mantel.  Even  now 
I  would  fain  believe,  with  Shakespeare,  that  for  these 
twelve  days  witches,  and  hobgoblins,  and  devilish 
spirits  had  to  fly  away  from  the  haunts  of  men  and 
hide  themselves  in  the  dark  pits  and  caves  of  the 
earth,  while  the  good  spirits  who  love  and  watch  over 
us  nestled  their  invisible  forms  among  the  evergreens 
that  hung  upon  the  walls.  It  was  pleasant  to  think 
that  on  the  last  day  of  the  twelve  the  cattle  knelt 
down  at  midnight  and  humbly  prayed  that  souls 


BILL    ARP.  181 

might  be  given  them  when  they  died,  so  that  they, 
too,  might  live  in  heaven  and  worship  God.  I  hope 
the  poor  things  will  have  a  good  time  in  the  next 
world,  for  they  see  a  rough  one  in  this,  and  I  reckon 
they  will,  considering  what  a  splendid  pair  of  horses 
came  down  after  the  prophet  Elijah.  Heaven 
wouldn  't  be  any  the  less  heaven  to  me  to  find  my  good 
dog  Bows  up  there,  all  renewed  in  his  youth,  and  to 
receive  the  glad  welcome  that  wags  in  his  diminished 
tail. 

How  naturally  we  become  reconciled  to  the  ap 
proach  of  death.  How  tired  we  get  fighting  through 
the  hard  battle  of  life.  I  remember  when  it  was  the 
grief  and  horror  of  my  young  life  that  sometime  or 
other  I  would  have  to  surrender  and  give  it  up,  but 
I  don't  care  now.  Let  it  come.  I  would  not  live  it 
over  again  if  I  could.  I  do  not  lament  like  Job  that 
I  was  ever  born,  but  still  I  have  no  desire  to  hold  on 
and  worry  and  struggle  for  several  hundred  years 
longer,  as  did  the  old  patriarchs  before  the  flood.  If 
I  was  a  good  man,  and  everything  moved  along  se 
renely  I  wouldn't  care,  but  there's  a  power  of  trouble 
and  we  make  the  most  of  it  ourselves.  Like  David 
and  Solomon,  we  keep  sinning  and  repenting,  and  the 
memory  of  it  haunts  a  man  and  cuts  into  him  like  a 
knife,  and  all  sorts  of  friends  come  along  and  clutch 
the  handle  and  give  it  a  gentle  twist.  Not  one  in  a 
thousand  will  pull  it  out  and  put  a  little  salve  on  the 
wound. 

I  always  thought  it  a  pretty  idea  to  weigh  a  man 
—to  put  his  life  in  a  pair  of  balances,  the  good  on 
one  side  and  the  bad  on  the  other,  and  let  him  rise 
to  heaven  or  fall  below  it,  as  the  scales  might  turn. 
I  know  it's  not  an  orthodox  doctrine  exactly,  for  they 


182  BILL    AKP. 

say  that  one  bad  deed  will  outweigh  a  thousand  good 
ones.  Nevertheless,  Belshazzer  was  .weighed,  and  the 
Scriptures  abound  in  such  figures  of  speech.  It  will 
take  miracles  of  grace  to  save  us  all  anyhow,  and  it 
becomes  everybody  to  help  one  another,  for  the  devil 
is  doing  his  best.  David  committed  murder,  and 
Solomon  worshipped  idols,  Cain  killed  his  brother* 
and  Jacob  cheated  Esau  out  of  his  birthright,  and 
Noah  got  drunk  and  Peter  denied  his  Master;  but 
they  all  repented  and  got  forgiveness,  and  if  there's 
any  difference  between  folks  now  and  then  I  don't 
know,  it,  unless  it  is  that  they  had  the  strongest  sup 
port  and  the  least  temptation  to  fall. 

But  then,  a  man  ought  not  to  take  too  much  com 
fort  from  such  comparisons,  for  they  savor  of  vanity, 
and  vanity  don't  save  anbody  nor  keep  him  from 
doing  wrong.  A  man  who  moves  along  the  pathway 
of  life  happily  and  serenely  in  the  midst  of  cares  and 
temptations,  is  a  long  ways  better  off  than  one  who 
don't.  A  man  who  brings  no  sorrow  to  his  friends 
and  nabors  lives  to  a  better  purpose  than  one  who 
does,  and  it  must  be  a  blessed  bed  to  die  on  when  a 
man  gets  old  and  has  no  stinging  memories  in  his 
pillow-case.  There  is  no  goodlier  sight  in  nature 
than  a  good  man  going  down  to  the  grave  in  grace 
ful  composure.  I  recall  one  who,  not  long  ago, 
reached  his  four-score  years  and  died.  He  was  a 
model  of  that  sweet  decay  that  has  no  odor  of  disso 
lution.  He  was  never  a  burden  or  a  cross,  and  to  the 
last  received  his  children  and  his  children's  children 
with  a  rejoicing  smile.  Would  that  I,  too,  like  him, 
might  go  down  behind  the  everlasting  hills — not  in  a 
cloud  nor  yet  in  a  blaze  of  glory,  but  rather  like  the 
sun  when  his  rays  are  softened  and  subdued  by  the 
Indian  summer  sky. 


BILL   ARP.  183 

Our  family  frolic  is  over.  The  show  of  it  and  the 
pleasant  hilarity  of  the  occasion,  with  all  the  delight 
ful  surprises  and  rejoicings,  passed  away  most  hap 
pily,  but  the  sweet  perfume  of  love  and  kindness  that 
Christmas  brought  remains  with  us  still.  It  is  more 
blessed  to  give  than  to  receive,  and  the  purest  pleas 
ure  we  can  feel  is  in  making  others  happy.  In  the 
good  old  times  Prince  Rupert  used  to  go  round  in 
disguise  and  find  out  who  was  needy  and  grateful 
and  kind,  and  when  Christmas  came  he  distributed 
his  gifts  according  to  their  deservings.  It  seems  to 
me  that  if  I  was  Mr.  Vanderbilt  I  would  do  like 
that,  but  maybe  not. 

Then  a  rich  and  merry  Christmas  to  the  rich, 
And  a  bright  and  happy  Christmas  to  the  poor; 

So  their  hearts  are  joyful  it  doesn  't  matter  which 
Has  the  fine  velvet  carpet  on  the  floor. 

For  riches  bring  a  trouble  when  they  come, 

And  money  leaves  a  pain  when  it  goes, 
But  everybody  now  must  have  a  little  sum 

To  brighten  up  the  year  at  its  close. 
#     *     #     #     # 

Pleasing  the  children  is  about  all  that  the  majority 
of  mankind  is  living  for,  though  they  don 't  realize  it, 
and  if  they  did  they  would  hardly  acknowledge  it. 
It  is  emphatically  the  great  business  of  this  sublu 
nary  life.  We  look  on  with  amazement  at  the  busy 
crowd  in  the  towns  and  cities  that  are  ever  going  to 
and  fro,  and  the  most  of  them  are  working  and  strug 
gling  to  please  and  maintain  children.  It  is  the 
excuse  for  all  the  mad  rush  of  business  that  hurries 
mankind  through  the  world.  It  is  the  apology  for 
nearly  all  the  stealing  and  cheating  and  lying  in  the 
land.  One  time  a  man  sold  me  a  Poland  China  sow 
for  $15  and  she  eat  up  $5  worth  of  chickens  the  day  I 


184  BILL    AKP. 

got  her,  and  when  I  asked  him  why  he  didn't  tell  me 
she  was  a  chicken  eater,  he  smiled  and  said  he 
thought  I  would  find  it  out  soon  enough.  He  spent 
that  money  on  his  children  and  so  I  had  to  forgive 
him.  Sometimes  when  I  ruminate  on  the  meanness 
of  we  grown-up  folks,  I  wish  that  the  children  would 
never  get  grown,  for  they  don't  get  very  mean  or 
foolish  until  they  do. 

Now  the  biggest  part  of  all  this  Christmas  business 
is  to  please  the  children.  Of  course  there  is  service 
in  the  churches,  and  the  good  pious  people  celebrate 
the  day  in  prayer  and  devotion,  but  most  of  it  is  for 
the  children.  The  stores  are  thronged  with  parents 
hunting  something  for  them.  The  Christmas  trees 
are  for  them,  and  all  the  dolls  and  wagons  and  tea- 
sets  and  pocket-knives  and  harps  and  fire  crackers 
and  a  thousand  other  things  too  numerous  to  men 
tion.  Why,  there  will  be  five  thousand  dollars  spent 
in  this  county  this  week  for  Christmas  gifts.  There 
will  be  half  a  million  in  the  State.  There  will  be 
twenty  millions  in  the  "United  States,  and  it  is  nearly 
all  for  children.  So,  my  young  friends,  you  must 
understand  how  very  important  you  are  in  this 
world's  affairs,  but  you  needent  get  uppity  nor 
bigoty  about  it,  for  that  spoils  all  the  old  folks' 
pleasure. 

Now,  let  us  imagine  we  are  around  the  cheerful 
Christmas  fire,  and  talk  about  Christmas  and  tell 
what  it  means.  Of  course  you  know  that  it  is  the 
anniversary  of  the  birth  of  Christ,  and  all  Christian 
people  celebrate  it.  It  is  very  common  everywhere 
to  celebrate  birthdays.  Americans  make  a  big  fuss 
over  Washington's  birthday  because  he  was  called 
the  father  of  his  country.  My  folks  make  a  little 


BILL    AEP.  185 

fuss  over  my  birthday  and  my  good  wife 's  birthday. 
They  don't  toot  horns  nor  pop  fire  crackers,  but  they 
have  an  extra  good  dinner  and  fix  up  a  pleasant  sur 
prise  of  some  sort.  We  use  to  surprise  the  children 
with  a  little  present  like  a  pocket-knife,  or  a  pair  of 
scissors,  or  sleeve  buttons  or  something,  but  so  many 
children  came  along  that  there  was  a  birthday  in 
sight  almost  all  the  time,  and  as  we  got  rich  in  chil 
dren  we  got  poor  in  money  and  had  to  skip  over 
sometimes.  The  4th  of  July  was  the  birthday  of  a 
nation  and  so  the  nation  always  celebrates  that  day. 

Christians  began  to  observe  Christmas  about  1,500 
years  ago  at  Jerusalem  and  Rome.  They  had 
service  in  the  churches  and  made  it  a  day  of  rejoic 
ing.  In  course  of  time  the  young  people  rather  lost 
sight  of  the  sacredness  of  the  day  and  the  devotion 
that  was  due  to  the  occasion,,  and  made  it  a  day  of 
frolicking  and  feasting.  They  sang  hilarious  songs, 
because  they  said  the  shepherds  sang  songs  at  Beth 
lehem.  They  made  presents  to  each  other  because 
they  said  the  wise  men  from  the  east  brought  presents 
to  the  young  child  and  its  mother.  They  kept  up 
their  festivities  all  night  because  the  Savior  was 
born  at  midnight.  The  Eoman  Catholic  Church  has 
observed  these  annual  celebrations  for  centuries,  and 
the  Church  of  England  took  them  up,  and  so  did  the 
Protestants  in  Germany  and  other  countries.  Chris 
tians  everywhere  adopted  them,  and  Christmas  day 
became  a  universal  holiday  except  among  the  Puri 
tans  of  New  England,  who  forbade  it  under 
penalties.  They  never  frolicked  or  made  merry 
over  anything.  In  a  great  painting  of  the  nativity 
by  Raphael,  there  is  seen  a  shepherd  at  the  door  play 
ing  on  a  bagpipe.  The  Tyrolese  who  live  on  the 


186  BILL    AKP. 

mountains  slopes  of  Switzerland  always  come  down 
the  valleys  on  Christmas  eve,  and  they  come  caroling 
sweet  songs  and  playing  on  musical  instruments,  and 
spend  the  night  in  innocent  festivities.  A  century 
or  so  ago  there  were  many  curious  superstitutions 
about  Christmas.  It  was  believed  that  an  ox  and  an 
ass  that  were  near  by  when  the  Saviour  was  born 
bent  to  their  knees  in  supplication,  and  so  they  said 
the  animals  all  went  to  prayer  every  Christmas 
night.  Of  course  they  might  have  known  better  if 
they  had  watched  all  night  to  see,  but  when  folks 
love  a  superstition  they  humor  it.  If  a  child  believes 
in  ghosts  they  are  sure  to  see  them,  whether  they  are 
there  are  not.  These  old-time  people  believed  that 
when  the  rooster  crowed  on  Christmas  night  all  the 
wizards  and  witches  and  hobgoblins  and  evil  spirits 
fled  away  from  the  habitations  of  men  and  hid  in 
caves  and  hollow  trees  and  deserted  houses,  and 
stayed  there  for  twelve  days. 

Nations  have  superstitions  just  like  individuals 
have  them.  The  Persians  had  their  genii  and  fai 
ries;  the  Hindoos  their  rakshar;  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  had  all  sorts  of  wonderful  gods  and  god 
desses,  such  as  Jupiter  and  Juno  and  Hercules  and 
Vulcan  and  Neptune,  and  they  built  temples  for 
them  to  dwell  in.  The  more  learned  and  enlightened 
a  people  are  the  more  sublime  are  their  superstitions. 
The  uncivilized  Indians  are  mystified  and  "see  God 
in  the  clouds,  and  hear  Him  in  the  wind."  The 
native  Africans  come  down  to  crocodiles  and  ser 
pents  and  owls  for  their  gods.  Some  of  the  negro 
tribes  take  a  higher  grade  of  animals  and  set  their 
faith  in  brer  fox  and  brer  rabbit,  as  Uncle  Remus 
has  told  you.  When  I  was  a  boy  we  could  tell  the 


BILL   AKP.  187 

difference  in  the  negro  character  by  the  stories  they 
told  us  in  their  cabins  at  night;  and  good  negroes 
always  told  us  funny,  cheerful  stories  about  the  tar 
baby,  and  the  bear  and  the  bee-tree,  and  about  foxes 
and  wolves;  but  the  bad  negroes  told  us  about 
witches  and  ghosts  and  Jack-o'-lanterns,  and  raw- 
head-and-bloody-bones.  I  used  to  listen  to  them  until 
I  didn't  dare  look  around,  and  I  got  up  closer  and 
closer  to  the  fire,  and  when  my  mother  called  me 
I  had  to  be  carried  to  the  house  in  a  negro's  arms. 
But  what  about  the  evergreens,  the  holly  and  laurel 
and  ivy  and  mistletoe  and  the  Christmas  tree !  That 
is  a  curious  history,  too,  and  it  all  came  from  the 
poetry  and  romance  that  belongs  to  our  nature. 
Evergreens  have  for  ages  been  used  as  symbols  of 
immortality.  The  victors  returning  from  the  wars 
were  crowned  with  them;  chaplets  of  green  leaves 
and  vines  were  made  for  the  successful  ones  at  the 
Olympic  games.  The  poets  of  Scripture  tell  us  of 
green  bay  trees  and  the  cedars  of  Lebanon. 
Churches  and  temples  have  been  decorated  with 
them  for  centuries.  Evergreens  have  always  had  a 
poetic  prominence  in  the  vegetable  kingdom.  We 
all  love  them,  for  they  cheer  us  in  midwinter  when 
there  are  no  other  signs  of  vegetation  to  gladden  our 
longing  eyes. 

Now,  children,  these  superstitions  are  all  fancy, 
as  you  know,  and  are  not  even  founded  on  fact,  and 
yet  it  is  human  nature  to  love  them.  We  are  all 
fond  of  anything  that  is  marvellous,  especially  if  it 
turns  out  well  for  the  good.  We  love  to  read  the 
Arabian  Nights,  and  we  rejoice  with  Ali  Baba  who 
outwitted  the  forty  thieves,  and  with  Aladdin  who 
found  the  wonderful  lamp.  Just  so  we  rejoice  with 


188  BILL   AEP. 

Cinderella  for  marrying  the  prince,  and  we  take 
comfort  in  it,  although  we  know  it  never  happened. 
It  is  human  nature  to  want  good  to  triumph  over 
bad,  and  on  this  heavenly  trait  in  our  humanity  is 
our  government  and  our  social  system  founded. 

You  know  all  about  St.  Nicholas  and  Santa  Glaus, 
and  where  that  pleasant  superstition  came  from,  but 
the  traditions  of  the  Germans  about  the  good  Knight 
Eupert  are  just  as  good,  and,  I  think,  are  more  stim 
ulating  to  the  children.  In  every  little  village 
Knight  Rupert  comes  out  just  after  twelve  o'clock, 
and  nobody  knows  where  he  comes  from.  He  has 
a  beautiful  sleigh  and  four  fine  horses,  all  dressed 
up  in  silver  spangles  and  silver  bells,  and  he  dashes 
around  from  house  to  house  and  calls  out  the  mother 
and  whispers  something  to  her,  and  she  whispers 
something  to  him,  and  he  nods  his  head  and  wags  his 
long  gray  beard  and  dashes  away  to  the  next  house. 
You  see  he  is  going  around  to  find  out  from  the 
mother  which  ones  of  her  children  have  been  good 
and  which  ones  have  been  bad,  so  as  to  know  what 
presents  to  bring  and  how  many.  If  the  good 
mother  says  sorrowfully,  "Well,  Knight  Eupert,  my 
Tom  has  not  been  a  good  boy;  he  is  not  kind  to  his 
sisters,  and  he  is  selfish  and  has  fights  with 
other  boys,  and  he  wont  study  at  school,  but  I 
hope  he  will  get  to  be  better,  so  please  bring  Tom 
some  little  thing,  won't  you!"  She  is  obliged  to  tell 
the  truth  on  all  her  children,  and  it  goes  very  hard 
with  her  sometimes.  So  after  Knight  Eupert  has 
been  all  around  he  drives  away  about  dark  and  no 
body  knows  where  he  went  to.  That  night  he  brings 
the  presents  while  the  children  are  all  asleep,  and 
sure  enough  Tom  don't  get  anything.  Now,  that 


BILL   AKP.  189 

is  what  they  pretend  to  believe,  but  of  course  Knight 
Rupert  is  some  good,  jolly  fellow  about  town,  and 
he  is  all  bundled  up  and  disguised  and  cuts  up  just 
such  a  figure  as  old  Santa  Glaus  does  in  the  pictures. 
The  year  is  almost  gone,  and  all  of  us  ought  to 
stop  a  minute  and  think  about  how  much  good  we 
have  done  since  the  last  Christmas— how  many  times 
we  have  tried  to  make  our  kindred  happy— not  only 
our  kindred,  but  our  nabors  and  companions.  As  I 
came  out  of  the  Markham  House,  in  Atlanta,  one 
cold  morning,  two  little  dirty  newsboys  came  run 
ning  up  to  me  from  opposite  directions  to  sell  me  a 
paper.  They  are  not  allowed  to  go  inside  the  hotels 
to  sell  papers,  and  so  they  stand  outside  in  the  cold 
and  watch  for  the  men  to  come  out.  One  of  these 
boys  was  a  stout  lad  of  ten  years,  and  the  other  was 
a  little  puny,  palefaced,  barefooted  chap,  and  al 
though  he  was  the  farthest  off,  he  got  to  me  first.  I 
said  to  the  biggest  boy,  "Why  didn't  you  run?  You 
could  have  got  here  first. "  He  smiled  and  said,  "I 
dident  want  to. ' >  " Why  not ?' '  said  I ;  " Is  that  boy 
your  brother f  "  "No,  sir, ' '  said  he,  ' ' but  he 's  little, 
and  he's  been  sick."  Now,  that  was  kindness  that 
will  do  for  Christmas  or  any  other  day.  I  gave 
them  a  dime  a  piece,  and  they  were  happy  for  a  little 
while.  Children,  if  you  can't  do  a  big  thing  you  can 
do  a  little  thing  like  that.  I  wouldent  let  the  little 
ragged  newsboys  get  ahead  of  me. 

We  keep  Grier's  almanac  at  our  house.  We  get  a 
good  many  almanacs  from  the  merchants  as  adver 
tisements,  but  Grier's  is  the  old  standard  and  is  the 
one  that  is  always  hung  by  the  mantle.  If  you  have 
that  kind  at  your  house  and  will  look  at  the  bottom 
of  the  last  page  to  see  what  kind  of  weather  we  are 


190  BILL   ARP. 

to  have  this  Christmas  week  you  will  find  it  put 
down  this  way:  "Be  thankful  for  all  the  blessings 
you  have  enjoyed  this  year  and  try  to  do  better  the 
next."  That  is  a  curious  kind  of  weather,  but  it  is 
mighty  good  weather. 


BILL    ARP.  191 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


GRANDFATHER'S  DAY— THE  LITTLE  URCHIN  OF  THE 
THIRD  GENERATION. 

This  is  a  most  blessed  land— where  everything 
grows  that  man  is  obleeged  to  have,  and  a  power  of 
good  things  throw  'd  in  just  to  minister  to  his  pleas 
ure.  The  summer  sun  is  now  ripening  the  fruits  of 
the  earth,  and  when  I  see  children  and  grandchildren 
and  nefews  and  neeses  rejoicin'  in  their  wanderings 
over  the  fields  and  orchards,  it  carries  me  back  to  the 
blessed  days  of  childhood.  The  old-field  plums  and 
the  wild  strawberries  and  cherries,  mulberries  and 
blackberries  were  worth  more  then  than  gold,  and  it 
made  no  difference  who  was  priest  or  president,  or 
how  rich  was  Astor  or  Girard  or  any  of  the  nabors, 
or  whether  Sal  Jackson's  bonnet  was  purtier  than 
Melyann  Thompson's  or  not.  What  a  glorious  luxury 
it  was  to  go  barefooted  and  wade  in  the  branch  and 
go  seining  and  climb  trees  and  hunt  bird's  nests  and 
carry  the  corn  to  the  mill  and  leave  it,  just  to  get  to 
run  a  horse-race  home  again.  I  know  now  that  those 
days  were  the  happiest,  and  so  I  won't  rob  my  pos 
terity  of  the  same  sort,  if  I  can  help  it.  I  want  'em  to 
love  the  old  homestead,  and  I  want  children's  chil 
dren  to  gather  about  and  cherish  its  memory.  What 
a  burlesque  on  childhood's  joy  it  must  be  to  visit 
grandma  and  grandpa  in  a  crowded  city,  penned  up 
in  brick  walls  with  a  few  sickly  flowers  in  front  and 
a  garden  in  the  rear  about  as  big  as  a  wagon  sheet. 
But  that's  the  way  the  thing  is  drifting.  Them  cal- 


192  BILL   AEP. 

culatin'  yankees  have  long  ago  done  away  with  the 
i  '  old  back  log ' '  and  the  blazing  hearth-stone  and  sub 
stituted  a  furnace  in  the  basement  and  a  few  iron 
pipes  running  around  the  walls  and  a  hole  in  the  floor 
to  let  the  heat  in.  All  that  may  be  economy,  but  in 
my  opinion  a  man  can't  raise  good  stock  in  no  such 
way.  They'll  be  picayunish  and  nice  and  sharp  feat 
ured  and  gimlety,  but  they  won't  do  to  bet  on  like 
them  children  that's  been  bro't  up  'round  a  fire-place 
on  a  hundred  acre  farm  and  had  plenty  of  fresh  air 
and  latitude. 

Pleasin'  the  children  is  about  all  the  majority  of 
mankind  are  livin'  for,  though  they  don't  know  it, 
and  if  they  did  they  wouldn't  acknowledge  it.  It  is 
emphatically  the  great  business  of  life.  We  look  on 
with  wonder  and  amazement  at  the  busy  crowds  in  a 
great  city  that  are  ever  goin'  to  and  fro  like  a  fid 
dler  's  elbow,  and  eight  out  of  ten  of  'em  are  workin  * 
and  strugglin'  to  please  and  maintain  the  children. 
It's  the  excuse  for  all  the  mad  rush  of  business  that 
hurries  mankind  through  the  world.  It 's  the  apology 
for  nearly  all  the  cheatin'  and  stealin'  and  lyin'  in 
the  land,  and  in  a  heap  of  such  cases  I  have  thought 
the  good  angels  would  drop  tears  enuf  on  the  big 
book  to  blot  'em  out  forever.  The  trouble  is,  that 
most  people  are  always  livin'  on  a  strain,  tryin'  to 
do  a  little  too  much  for  their  children,  and  scufflin' 
against  wind  and  tide  to  git  just  a  little  ahead  of 
their  nabors.  Some  of  'em  won't  let  a  ten  year  old 
boy  go  to  meetin'  or  to  Sunday-school  if  he  can't  fix 
up  as  fine  as  other  boys.  They  won't  let  him  go 
barefooted,  nor  wear  a  patch  behind  nor  before,  nor 
ride  bareback,  nor  go  dirty,  and  so  the  domestic  pres 
sure  for  finery  becomes  tremendous.  Jesso  with  bon 
nets,  and  parasols,  and  kid  gloves,  and  silk  dresses, 


BILL   ABP.  193 

and  chanyware,,  and  carpets,  and  winder  curtains— 
and  a  thousand  things  that  cost  money  and  runs  up 
the  outgo  a  heap  bigger  than  the  incum.  Generally 
speakin'  this  home  pressure  ain't  a  noisy  one,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  is  very  silent  and  sad— so  sad  that  a 
body  would  think  there  was  somebody  dead  in  the 
house,  and  so  after  awhile  sumhow  or  sumhow  else 
the  finery  comes,  and  thus  for  awhile  all  is  sereen. 
But  the  collapse  is  shore  to  cum  sooner  or  later,  and 
the  children  ain't  to  blame  for  it.  Sumtimes  when  I 
ruminate  upon  the  meanness  of  mankind,  I  wish  the 
children  would  never  get  grown  for  they  don't  get 
mean  or  foolish  until  they  do.  Just  think  what  a 
sweet  time  of  it  old  mother  Eve  and  Mrs.  Commo 
dore  Noah,  and  aunt  Methusaler  had  with  thirty  or 
forty  of  'em  wearin'  bibs  and  aperns  until  they  were 
fifty  years  old,  toggin'  along  after  their  daddies  un 
til  they  were  a  hundred.  I  don't  think  that  old 
father  Woodruff  could  have  stood  that.  When  a 
man  who  ain't  no  yearling'  gits  married,  and  ten  or 
a  dozen  of  'em  cum  right  straight  along  in  a  row, 
and  by  the  time  he  gets  on  the  piazza,  tired  and 
grunty,  they  begin  to  climb  all  over  him  and  under 
him  and  betwixt  him,  and  on  the  back  of  his  chair 
and  the  top  of  his  head,  it's  a  little  more  than  his 
venerable  nature  can  stand.  On  such  occasions,  it 
ain't  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  gently  shakes  himself 
aloose  and  exclaims,  "Lord,  have  mercy  upon  me," 
But,  then,  the  like  of  this  must  be  endured.  'Tis 
a  part  of  the  bargain,  implied  if  not  expressed,  and 
no  man  ought  to  dodge  it.  Humor  'em,  play  horse 
and  frolic  with  'em,  wash  'em,  undress  'em,  tell  'em 
stories  about  Jack  and  the  bean  stalk,  and  what  you 
done  when  you  was  a  little  boy;  scratch  their  backs 

(13) 


194  BILL   ABP. 

and  put  'em  to  bed,  and  if  they  can't  sleep,  get  up 
with  'em  away  in  the  night,  and  nod  around  in  your 
night-gown  until  they  can.  Let  them  trot  after  you 
a  heap  in  week  days  and  all  day  of  a  Sunday,  and 
don't  try  to  shirk  off  the  trouble  and  the  responsibil 
ity  on  the  good  woman  who  bore  'em.  Solomon 
says :  ' '  Children  are  the  chief  end  of  man,  and  the 
glory  of  his  declining  years,"  and  raisin'  of  'em  is 
the  biggest  business  I  know  of  in  this  life,  and  the 
most  responsible  in  the  life  to  come. 

When  a  man  begins  to  get  along  in  years  he  grad 
ually  changes  from  being  a  king  in  his  family  to  a 
patriarch.  He  is  more  tender  and  kind  to  his  off 
spring,  and  instead  of  ruling  them,  the  first  thing  he 
knows  they  are  ruling  him.  My  youngest  children 
and  my  grandchildren  just  run  over  me  now,  and  it 
takes  more  than  half  my  time  to  keep  up  with  'em, 
and  find  out  where  they  are  and  what  they  are  doing. 
It  rains  most  every  day,  and  the  weeds  and  grass  are 
always  wet,  and  the  children  and  the  dogs  track  mud 
all  over  the  house.  We  can't  keep  'em  in  and  we 
can't  keep  'em  out.  The  boys  have  got  traps  set  in, 
the  swamp,  and  are  obliged  to  go  to  'em  every  fif 
teen  minutes,  and  if  they  catch  a  bird  it's  as  big 
a  thing  as  killin'  an  elephant.  They  built  a  brick 
furnace  in  the  back  yard,  and  have  been  cookin'  on 
it  for  two  days,  bakin'  hoe-cakes,  and  fryin'  eggs, 
and  boilin'  coffee,  and  their  afflicted  mother  has 
mighty  near  surrendered;  for  she  can't  keep  a  skil 
let,  nor  a  spoon,  nor  a  knife,  nor  a  plate  in  the 
kitchen,  and  so  she  tried  to  kick  the  furnace  over, 
and  now  goes  about  limpin'  with  a  sore  toe.  Some 
of  the  older  ones  have  found  a  chalk  quarry  in  a 
ditch,  and  taken  a  notion  to  drawin'  and  sculpture, 


BILL   ABP. 

and  made  pictures  of  dogs  and  chickens  and  snakes 
all  around  the  house  on  the  outside;  and  while  the 
good  mother  was  cookin'  the  two  youngest  ones 
chalked  over  the  inside  as  good  as  they  could.  The 
mantel-piece,  and  jams,  and  doors,  and  bedsteads 
and  sewin '  machine,  and  window  glass  were  all  ring- 
streaked  and  striked,  and  as  I  couldent  do  justice  to 
the  subject  myself,  I  waited  for  reinforcements. 
When  the  maternal  ancestor  appeared,  I  was  a  peep- 
in7  through  the  crack  of  the  door.  She  paused  upon 
the  threshold  like  an  actor  playing  high  tragedy  in 
a  theater.  ' '  Merciful  fathers ! ' '  then  a  long  and  and 
solemn  pause.  ' '  Was  there  ever  such  a  set  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth?  What  shall  I  do?  Ain't  it 
enough  to  run  anybody  distracted?  Here  I  have 
worked  and  worked  to  make  this  old  house  look 
decent  and  now  look  at  it !  I've  a  good  mind  to  ring 
your  little  necks  for  you.  Did  ever  a  mother  have 
such  a  time  as  I  have— can't  leave  'em  one  minit  that 
they  ain't  into  mischief,  and  it's  been  the  same  thing 
over  and  over  and  over  with  all  of  'em  for  the  last 
twenty  nine-years.  I'd  rather  been  an  old  maid  a 
thousand  times  over.  I  wish  there  wasn't  a  child  in 
the  world— yes,  I  do!"  (Looks  at  'em  mournfully 
for  a  minute.)  "Come  here,  Jessie,  you  little  pale- 
faced  darling.  Mamma  ain't  mad  with  you;  no, 
you're  just  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  world;  and  poor 
little  Carl's  broken  finger  makes  my  heart  ache 
every  time  I  look  at  it.  He  did  have  the  sweetest 
little  hand  before  that  boy  mashed  it  to  pieces  with 
his  maul;  and  there's  that  great  scar  on  his  head, 
where  the  brick  fell  on  him,  and  another  over  his 
eye,  where  he  fell  on  the  hatchet.  I  wonder  if  I  ever 
will  raise  you  poor  little  things;  you  look  like  little 


196  BILL   AKP. 

orphans ;  take  your  chalk  and  mark  some  more  if  you 
want  to."  When  I  came  in  she  was  helpin'  'em 
make  a  bob-tail  dog  on  the  closet  door.  IVe  found 
your  old  torn  cat,"  said  I;  "Carl  had  him  fastened 
up  in  that  nail  keg  that's  got  a  hen's  nest  in  it." 
"Why,  Carl,  what  upon  earth  did  you  put  the  cat  in 
there  for?"  "Why  mamma,  he's  a  settin',  and  I 
wanted  him  to  lay  some  little  kittens.  Me  and  Jes 
sie  wants  some  kittens." 

These  little  chaps  ride  the  horses  and  colts  over 
the  meadow  and  pasture,,  and  make  the  sheep  jump 
the  big  branch,  and  they  go  in  a  washing  two  or 
three  times  a  day,  and  they  climb  the  grape  arbor 
and  the  apple  trees  and  stuff  their  craws  full  of  fruit 
and  trash,  and  they  can  tell  whether  a  watermelon 
is  ripe  or  green,  for  they  plug  it  to  see.  And  every 
one  of  'em  has  got  a  sling  shot  and  my  pigeons  are 
always  on  the  wing,  and  the  other  day  I  found  one 
of  the  finest  young  pullets  laying  dead  with  a  hole 
in  her  side,  and  all  the  satisfaction  I  get  is,  "  I  dident 
mean  to  do  it,  or  I  won't  do  it  any  more,  or  I  dident 
do  it  at  all."  Jesso.  It's  most  astonishing  how  the 
litle  rascals  can  shoot  with  their  slings,  and  now  I 
don't  believe  it  was  a  miracle  at  all  that  made  David 
plump  old  Goliah  in  the  forehead,  for  these  boys  can 
plump  a  jaybird  now  at  forty  yards,  and  we  have 
had  to  take  all  their  weapons  away  to  protect  the 
birds  and  poultry.  Sometimes  I  get  mad  and  rip  up 
and  around  like  I  was  going  to  do  something  des 
perate,  but  Mrs.  Arp  comes  a-slipping  along  and 
begins  to  tell  how  they  didnt  mean  any  harm,  and 
they  are  just  like  all  other  boys,  and  wants  to  know 
if  I  dident  do  them  sorts  of  things  when  I  was  a  boy. 
Well,  that's  a  fact— I  did— and  I  got  a  lickin'  for  it. 


BILL   AKP.  197 

too.  You  see,  I  was  one  of  the  oldest  boys,  and  they 
always  catch  it,  but  the  youngest  one  never  gets  a 
lickin',forbythe  time  he  comes  along  the  old  man  has 
mellowed  down  and  wants  a  pet.  The  older  children 
have  married  and  gone,  and  the  old  folks  feel  sorter 
like  they  have  been  throwed  off  for  somebody  no  kin 
to  'em,  and  so  they  twine  around  those  that  are  left 
all  the  closer ;  but  by-and  by  they  grow  up,  too,  and 
leave  them,  and  it 's  pitiful  to  see  the  good  old  couple 
bereft  of  their  children  and  living  alone  in  their 
glory.  Then  is  the  time  that  grandchildren  find  a 
welcome  in  the  old  family  homestead,  for  as  Solomon 
saith,  the  glory  of  an  old  man  is  his  children's  chil 
dren.  Then  is  the  time  that  the  little  chaps  of  the 
second  and  third  generation  love  to  escape  from 
their  well-ruled  home  and  for  awhile  find  refuge  and 
freedom  and  frolic  at  granpa's.  A  child  without  a 
grandma  and  grandpa  can  never  have  its  share  of 
happiness.  I'm  sorry  for  'em.  Blessings  on  the 
good  old  people,  the  venerable  grand-parents  of  the 
land,  the  people  with  good  old  honest  ways  and  sim 
ple  habits  and  limited  desires,  who  indulge  in  no 
folly,  who  hanker  after  no  big  thing,  but  live  along 
serene  and  covet  nothing  but  the  happiness  of  their 
children  and  their  children's  children.  I  said  to  a 
good  old  mother  not  long  ago:  "Well,  I  hear  that 
Anna  is  to  be  married. "  "  Yes,  sir, ' '  said  she,  smil 
ing  sorrowfully,  "I  don't  know  what  I  will  do. 
The  last  daughter  I've  got  is  going  to  leave  me. 
I've  nursed  her  and  petted  her  all  her  life,  and  I 
kinder  thought  she  was  mine  and  would  always  be 
mine,  but  she's  run  off  after  a  feller  she's  no  kin  to 
in  the  world,  and  who  never  did  do  a  thing  for  her 
but  give  her  a  ring  and  a  book  or  two  and  a  little 


198  BILL    ARP. 

French  candy  now  and  then,  and  it  does  look  so 
strange  and  unreasonable.  I  couldent  stand  it  at  all 
if— if  I  hadent  done  the  same  thing  myself  long 
ago, ' '  and  she  kept  knitting  away  with  a  smile  and  a 
tear  upon  her  motherly  face. 

But  I  am  not  going  to  slander  these  little  chaps 
that  keep  us  so  busy  looking  after  them,  for  there 
is  no  meanness  in  their  mischief,  and  if  they  take 
liberties  it  is  because  we  let  'em.  Mrs.  ~Arp  says  they 
are  just  too  sweet  to  live,  and  is  always  narrating 
some  of  their  smart  sayings.  Well,  they  are  mighty 
smart,  for  they  know  exactly  how  to  get  every  thing 
and  do  everything  they  want,  for  they  know  how  to 
manage  her,  and  they  know  that  she  manages  me, 
and  that  settles  it.  A  man  is  the  head  of  the  house 
about  some  things,  and  about  some  other  things  he  is 
only  next  to  head,  if  he  ain't  foot.  A  man  can  pun 
ish  his  children,  but  it's  always  advisable  to  make  an 
explanation  in  due  time  and  let  his  wife  know  what 
he  did  it  for,  because  you  see  they  are  her  children 
shore  enough,  and  she  knows  it  and  feels  it.  The 
pain  and  trouble,  the  nursing  and  night  watching 
have  all  been  hers.  The  washing  and  dressing,  and 
mending,  and  patching— tying  up  fingers  and  toes, 
and  sympathizing  with  'em  in  all  their  great  big  little 
troubles,  all  falls  to  her  while  the  father  is  tending 
to  his  farm,  or  his  store,  or  his  office,  or  friends,  or 
maybe  to  his  billiard  table.  When  a  woman  says 
"this  is  my  child,"  it  carries  more  weight  and  more 
meaning  than  when  a  man  says  it,  and  I've  not  got 
much  respect  for  a  law  that  will  give  the  man  the 
preference  of  ownership  just  because  he  is  a  man.  I 
remember  when  I  was  a  boy,  a  sad,  pretty  woman 
taught  school  in  our  town,  and  she  had  a  sweet  little 


BILL    ARP.  199 

girl  about  eight  years  old,  and  one  day  a  man  came 
there  for  the  child  and  brought  a  lawyer  with  him, 
and  the  mother  was  almost  distracted,  and  all  of  us 
boys— big  and  little— got  rocks  and  sticks  and  thrash 
poles  and  hid  the  little  girl  up  in  the  cupalo,  and 
when  the  sheriff  came  we  attacked  him  like  killing 
snakes  or  fighting  yaller  jackets,  and  we  run  him  off, 
and  when  he  came  back  with  more  help,  we  run  'em 
all  off,  and  the  man  never  got  his  child,  and  I  can  say 
now  that  the  soldiers  who  whipped  the  Yankess  at 
Bull  Eun  were  not  half  so  proud  of  their  victory  as 
we  were,  though  I  found  out  afterwards  that  the 
sheriff  was  willing  to  be  whipped,  for  he  was  on  the 
side  of  the  mother  and  didn't  want  to  find  the  child 
nohow.  But  the  world  is  getting  kinder  than  it  used 
to  be— kinder  to  women  and  to  the  poor  and  depend 
ent,  and  kinder  to  brutes.  Away  up  in  New  England 
they  use  to  drown  women  for  being  witches,  but 
they  don't  now.  Well,  they  do  bewitch  a  man  pow 
erfully  sometimes,  that's  a  fact,  but  if  any  drowning 
is  done  he  drowns  himself  because  he  can't  get  the 
woman  he  wants  and  live  under  her  witching  all  the 
time.  But  a  man  is  still  the  head  of  the  house  and 
always  will  be,  I  reckon,  for  it's  according  to  Scrip 
ture.  He  has  got  a  natural  right  to  run  the  machine 
and  keep  up  the  supplies,  and  if  he  always  has  money 
when  the  good  wife  wants  it  and  doesn't  wait  for  her 
to  ask  for  it  but  makes  her  take  it  as  a  favor  to  him, 
then  he  is  a  successful  husband  and  peace  reigns 
supreme.  Jesso.  When  there  is  money  in  the  till 
a  man  can  sit  in  his  piazza  with  his  feet  on  the  banis 
ters  and  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace.  A  woman  never 
loves  money  for  its  uses.  She  never  hoards  it  or 
hides  it  away  like  a  man— and  when  I  used  to  be  a 


200  BILL   ARP. 

merchant  I  thought  there  was  no  goodlier  combina 
tion  in  all  nature  than  a  new  stock  of  dry  goods  and 
a  pretty  woman  in  the  store  with  a  well  filled  purse 
in  her  pocket.  Jesso. 


BILL   ARP.  201 


CHAPTEE  XXVIII. 


MAKING  SAUSAGE. 

Hog  killing  is  over  at  last.  We  had  about  made 
up  our  minds  to  kill  one  at  a  time  as  we  needed  them 
and  not  cure  any  for  bacon,  but  the  weather  got 
right  and  the  moon  was  on  the  increase,  and  so  we 
slayed  them.  I  don't  care  anything  about  the  moon 
myself,  but  there  are  some  old  family  superstitions 
that  the  meat  will  shrink  in  the  pot  if  the  moon  is  on 
the  wane  when  you  kill  it.  The  new  moon  is  quite 
level  this  time,  which  is  a  sure  sign  that  it  will  rain 
a  good  deal  this  month,  or  that  it  won't.  We  have 
pretty  well  disposed  of  this  greasy  business.  The 
little  boys  had  a  good  time  frying  liver  on  the  hot 
rocks  and  roasting  tails  in  the  ashes  and  blowing  up 
balloons,  and  now  if  we  had  a  few  darkies  to  cook 
up  the  heads  and  clean  the  feet  and  fix  up  the  skins 
for  sausages  and  make  a  nice  lot  of  souse,  we  could 
live  like  princes,  but  it's  troublesome  work  and  costs 
more  than  it  comes  to  if  we  have  to  do  it  ourselves. 

I  am  very  fond  of  sausage— home-made  sausage 
such  as  Mrs.  Arp  knows  how  to  make,  and  so  she 
delicately  informed  me  that  the  meat  was  all  chopped 
and  ready  for  the  machine,  and  said  something 
about  my  everyday  clothes  and  one  of  her  old  aprons. 
She  further  remarked  that  when  it  was  all  ground 
up  she  would  come  down  and  show  me  how  much 
salt  and  pepper  and  sage  to  put  in  and  how  to  mix 
it  all  up  together.  Well,  I  didn't  mind  the  machine 
business  at  all,  but  I  remembered  seeing  her  work 


202  BILL   ARP. 

mighty  hard  over  that  mixing  of  the  salt  and  pepper 
and  sage,  and  frying  a  little  mess  on  the  stove  and 
tasting  it,  and  then  putting  in  more  salt  and  working 
it  over  again,  and  cooking  another  mess  and  tasting 
it  again,  and  then  putting  in  more  pepper  and  more 
sage,  and  after  the  job  was  all  over,  heard  her  de 
clare  there  wasn't  enough  of  anything  in  it,  and  so 
I  conjured  up  a  bran  new  idea,  and  sprinkled  about 
a  hatful  of  salt  and  a  quart  of  black  pepper  and  a 
pint  of  cayenne  and  all  the  sage  that  was  on  the 
premises  all  over  the  meat  before  I  ground  it.  Then 
I  put  it  through  the  machine  and  cooked  and  tasted 
it  myself.  Well,  it  was  a  little  hot— that's  a  fact— 
and  a  little  salty,  and  a  right  smart  sagey,  but  it  was 
good,  and  a  little  of  it  satisfied  a  body  quicker  than 
a  good  deal  of  the  ordinary  kind,  and  the  new  plan 
saved  a  power  of  mixing.  I  took  a  nice  little  cake  of 
it  to  Mrs.  Arp  to  try,  which  she  did  with  some  sur 
prise  and  misgiving.  By  the  time  she  had  sneezed 
four  times  and  coughed  the  plate  out  of  her  lap,  she 
quietly  asked  me  if  it  was  all  like  that.  "All,"  said 
I,  solemnly.  "Do  you  like  it?"  she  said.  "Pretty 
well,  I  think,"  said  I;  "I  wanted  to  save  you  trouble, 
and  maybe  I've  got  it  a  leetle  too  strong."  She 
never  replied,  but  the  next  day  she  made  up  the  lit 
tle  cloth  bags  and  stuffed  'em  and  hung  'em  all  over 
head  in  the  kitchen,  and  remarked  as  she  left,  ' '  Now, 
children,  that's  your  pa's  sausage.  It's  a  pity  he 
hadn't  stayed  away  another  day." 

Mrs.  Arp  has  been  mighty  busy,  as  usual— always 
a  working,  for  the  house  will  get  dirty,  and  the  child 
ren's  clothes  will  wear  out,  and  it's  clean  up  and  sew, 
and  patch,  and  darn,  and  sew  on  buttons ;  and  it's  the 
same  old  thing  day  after  day  and  week  after  week; 
and  the  little  chaps  have  to  be  watched  all  day  and 


BILL   AEP.  203 

washed  every  night ;  and  their  shoe  strings  get  in  a 
hard  knot,  and  it's  a  worry  to  get  it  undone.  They 
wander  over  the  hill  and  play  in  the  branch,  or  frolic 
in  the  barn  loft,  or  slip  off  to  Cobe's ;  and  I  can  hear 
a  sweet  motherly  voice  about  forty  times  a  day,  as 
she  steps  to  the  door  and  calls :  "Carl— you  Carl! 
Jessie,  Jessie-e-e!  Where  upon  earth  have  those 
children  gone  to?  I  will  just  have  to  tie  the  little 
wretches,  or  put  a  block  and  chain  to  them."  One 
day  she  caught  me  laughing  at  her  anxiety,  and  I 
knew  she  didn't  like  it,  for  she  said:  " Never  mind, 
William,  some  of  these  days  those  children  will  come 
home  drowned  in  the  creek,  and  carried  off  by  the 
gypsies,  and  you  won't  laugh  then."  When  she 
succeeds  in  getting  them  home  she  places  her  arms 
akimbo,  and  with  a  look  of  unutterable  despair, 
gazes  at  them  and  exclaims:  "Merciful  fathers! 
Did  a  poor  mother  ever  have  such  children?— feet 
right  wet,  shoes  all  muddy;  and  there— another  hole 
in  the  knee  of  his  pants— and  Jessie  has  torn  her 
apron  nearly  off  of  her.  Bring  me  a  switch.  I  will 
not  stand  it,  for  it's  sew  and  patch  and  worry  for 
ever.  I  could  hardly  put  those  shoes  on  you  this 
morning,  for  they  have  been  wet  and  dried,  and  wet 
and  dried  until  they  are  as  hard  as  boards,  and  your 
pa  won't  get  you  any  new  ones;  and  your  stockings 
are  worn  out  and  wet  besides ;  and  the  diphtheria  is 
all  over  the  country,  and  it's  a  wonder  you  don't 
take  it  and  die.  Come  in  to  the  fire,  you  poor  little 
orphans,  and  warm  your  feet.  You  may  pop  some 
corn,  and  here's  some  apples  for  you.  Don't  you 
want  some  dinner,  my  darlings?" 

The  poet  hath  said  that  ' l  a  babe  in  the  house  is  a 
well  spring  of  pleasure. ' '     There  is  a  brand  new  one 


204  BILL    AKP. 

here  now,  the  first  in  eight  years,  and  it  has  raised 
a  powerful  commotion.  It's  not  our  baby,  exactly, 
but  it's  in  the  line  of  descent,  and  Mrs.  Arp  takes 
on  over  it  all  the  same  as  she  used  to  when  she  was 
regularly  in  the  business.  I  thought  maybe  she  had 
forgotten  how  to  nurse  'em  and  talk  to  em,  but  she  is 
singing  the  same  old  familiar  songs  that  have  sweet 
ened  the  dreams  of  half  a  score,  and  she  blesses  the 
little  eyes  and  the  sweet  little  mouth  and  uses  the 
same  infantile  language  that  nobody  but  babies 
understand.  For  she  says,  "turn  here  to  its  dand- 
mudder,"  and  "bess  its  'ittle  heart,"  and  talks  about 
its  sweet  little  f  ootsy  tootsies,  and  holds  it  up  to  the 
window  to  see  the  wagons  go  by  and  the  wheels  going 
rouny-pouny,  and  now  my  liberty  is  curtailed,  for  as 
I  go  stamping  around  with  my  heavy  farm  shoes  she 
shakes  her  ominous  finger  at  me  just  like  she  used  to, 
and  says,  " Don't  you  see  the  baby  is  asleep!"  And 
so  I  have  to  tip-toe  around,  and  ever  and  anon  she 
wants  a  little  fire,  or  some  hot  water,  or  some  catnip, 
for  the  baby  is  a-crying  and  shorely  has  got  the  colic. 
The  doors  have  to  be  shut  now  for  fear  of  a  draft 
of  air  on  the  baby,  and  a  little  hole  in  the  window 
pane  about  as  big  as  a  dime  had  to  be  patched,  and 
I  have  to  hunt  up  a  passel  of  kinlings  every  night  and 
put  'em  where  they  will  be  handy,  and  they  have 
sent  me  off  to  another  room  where  the  baby  can't 
hear  me  snore ;  and  all  things  considered  the  baby  is 
running  the  machine,  and  the  well  spring  of  pleasure 
is  the  center  of  space.  A  grandmother  is  a  wonder 
ful  help  and  a  great  comfort  at  such  a  time  as  this, 
for  what  does  a  young  mother,  with  her  first  child, 
know  about  colic  and  thrash,  and  hives  and  hiccups, 
and  it  takes  a  good  deal  of  faith  to  dose  'em  with 


BILL   AKP.  205 

sut  tea  and  catnip,  and  lime  water,  and  paregoric, 
and  soothing  syrup,  and  sometimes  with  all  these  the 
child  gets  worse,  and  if  it  gets  better  IVe  always 
had  a  curiosity  to  know  which  remedy  it  was  that 
did  the  work.  Children  horn  of  healthy  parents  can 
stand  a  power  of  medicine  and  get  over  it,  for  after 
the  cry  comes  the  sleep,  and  sleep  is  a  wonderful 
restorer.  Eock  'em  awhile  in  the  cradle,  then  take 
'em  up  and  jolt  'em  a  little  on  the  knee  and  then 
turn  'em  over  and  jolt  'em  on  the  other  side,  and 
then  give  'em  some  sugar  in  a  rag,  and  after  awhile 
they  will  go  to  sleep  and  let  the  poor  mother  rest. 
There  is  no  patent  on  this  business,  no  way  of  rais 
ing  'em  all  the  same  way,  but  it  is  trouble,  from  the 
start,  and  nobody  but  a  mother  knows  how  much 
trouble  it  is.  A  man  ought  to  be  mighty  good  just 
for  his  mother's  sake,  if  nothing  else,  for  there  is 
no  toil  or  trial  like  nursing  and  caring  for  a  little 
child,  and  there  is  no  grief  so  great  as  a  mother's  if 
all  her  care  and  anxiety  is  wasted  on  an  ungrateful 
child. 

It  looks  like  we  will  be  obleeged  to  import  a  doc 
tor  in  the  settlement.  Fact  is  we  are  obleeged  to 
have  a  doctor — not  that  one  is  needed  at  all,  but 
just  to  quiet  the  female  hystericks  when  any  little 
thing  happens.  Since  we've  lived  here  I've  had  to 
send  five  miles  on  the  run  for  a  doctor  two  times 
just  to  keep  down  the  family  hystericks.  Both  times 
the  patient  recovered  before  the  doctor  arrived,  but 
then  it  was  such  a  comfort  to  have  him  around,  and 
hear  him  say  it  is  all  right,  and  see  him  measure  out 
a  little  yaller  powder.  It  was  only  day  before  yes 
terday  that  Ralph  put  our  little  Carl  on  the  old  mare 
and  was  leading  her  along  at  the  rate  of  half  a  mile 


206  BILL    AKP. 

an  hour,  when  the  little  chap  took  a  notion  to  fall  off, 
and  as  soon  as  the  wind  of  it  got  to  headquarters 
there  was  a  wild  female  rush  to  the  scene  of  great 
disaster.  "Oh  mercy,  oh  the  dear  child.  He's 
killed.  I  know  he's  killed,  poor  little  darling.  Oh 
my  child,  my  child.  Ralph,  I'll  whip  you  for  this  if 
I  live.  Oh  my  precious.  Just  look  at  that  place  on 
his  little  head.  Children,  where  is  your  pa?  Send 
for  the  doctor.  Oh  mercy— what  did  we  ever  move 
out  here  for,  five  miles  from  a  doctor?"  I  was 
mighty  busy  planting  peas  and  so  forth  in  my  gar 
den,  but  I  snuffed  the  commotion  in  the  air,  and  in 
a  few  moment  found  'em  all  bringing  the  boy  to  the 
house,  and  Mrs.  Arp  and  the  girls  talked  so  fast  and 
took  on  so  I  couldent  find  out  what  had  happened  to 
him.  Finally  I  got  the  bottom  facts  from  Ralph,  the 
reckless— the  butt  end  of  all  complaints— the  prom 
ise  of  a  thousand  whippings  with  nary  one  per 
formed.  I  looked  in  vain  for  wounds  and  bruises 
and  dislocations.  "The  boy  is  not  seriously  hurt," 
said  I— "he  is  badly  scared  and  you  are  making 
him  worse  by  all  this  commotion— what  he  wants  is 
rest  and  sleep." 

"Oh,  never,"  said  my  wife,  "it  won't  do  to  let 
him  sleep— when  the  brain  is  hurt  sleep  is  the  very 
worst  thing— it  brings  on  coma  and  coma  is  next 
thing  to  death— we  must  not  let  him  sleep."  I  was 
pretty  well  aroused  by  this  time  and  said,  "He  shall 
sleep, ' '  and  turned  everybody  out  but  Mrs.  Arp,  and 
she  acquiesced  in  my  determination  and  the  boy 
slept.  He  slept  all  night  and  Mrs.  Arp  sat  beside  the 
bed  and  watched.  He  was  all  right  in  the  morning 
and  ready  for  another  ride. 


BILL   AKP.  207 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 


THE  OLD  TRUNK. 

The  old  trunk  was  open.  Away  down  in  its  mys 
terious  recesses  Mrs.  Arp  was  searching  for  some 
thing,  and  as  I  sat  in  the  other  corner  with  my  little 
table  and  pen  I  watched  her  as  she  laid  the  ancient 
relics  on  a  chair  and  unfolded  first  one  and  then 
another  and  looked  at  them  so  earnestly,  and  then 
folded  them  up  again.  ' '  What  are  you  hunting  for, 
my  dear?"  said  I.  "Oh,  nothing  much,"  said  she; 
"I  was  just  looking  over  these  little  dresses  to  see  if 
there  was  anything  that  would  do  for  the  little 
grandchildren.  Here  is  a  pretty  dress.  That  dress 
cost  me  many  a  careful  stitch.  All  these  plaits  were 
made  by  my  hand,  my  own  hand.  There  is  very  little 
such  work  done  now,  for  we  had  no  sewing  machines 
then,  and  it  took  a  long,  long  time.  This  embroidery 
was  beautiful  then,  and  it  is  pretty  yet.  Do  you  re 
member  when  the  first  daguerrean  came  to  our  town 
to  take  pictures  ?  Well,  Hattie  wore  this  dress  when 
her  picture  was  taken,  and  I  thought  she  was  the 
sweetest  little  thing  in  the  world,  and  so  did  you,  and 
she  was.  Since  then  we  have  had  ambrotypes,  and 
photographs  and  porcelain  pictures,  and  I  don't 
know  what  all ;  but  that  little  daguerreotype  gave  me 
more  pleasure  than  anything  since,  and  it  is  pretty 
now.  Let  me  see— that  was  twenty-five  years  ago, 
and  now  I  think  this  same  dress  will  look  right  pretty 
on  Hattie 's  child.  And  here  is  one  that  our  first  boy 
was  christened  in,  and  there  is  no  machine  work 


208  BILL   ARP. 

about  it,  either.  That  was  more  than  thirty  years 
ago,  and  now  there  are  four  grandchildren  at  his 
house,  and  three  more  at  another  one's  house,  and 
I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  the  poor  little 
things,  but  I  reckon  the  Lord  will  provide  for  them. 
And  here  is  a  little  garment  that  Jennie  made.  Poor 
Jennie,  she  had  a  troubled  life ;  but  she  is  in  heaven 
now,  and  I'll  save  this  for  Pet.  She  will  prize  it 
because  her  mother  made  it.  And  here  is  a  piece  of 
my  wedding  dress— do  you  remember  it?  I  know 
you  said  then  that  I  looked  an  angel  in  it,  but  my 
wings  have  dropped  off  long  ago,  and  now  I'm  only 
a  poor  old  woman,  a  faded  flower,  an  overworked 
mother,  ten  living  children  and  three  more  up  yon 
der,  and  I  will  be  there,  too,  I  hope,  before  long,  for 
I'm  getting  tired,  very  tired,  and  it  seems  to  me  I 
would  like  to  be  nursed,  nursed  by  my  mother,  and 
petted  like  she  used  to  pet  me  in  the  long,  long  ago. 
And  here  is  a  pair  of  little  baby  shoes,  and  the  little 
darling  who  wore  them  is  in  the  grave,  but  he  is  bet 
ter  off  now,  and  I  wouldent  call  him  back  if  I  could. 
Sometimes  I  want  to  feel  sad,  and  I  rummage  over 
these  old  things.  There  is  not  much  here  now,  for 
every  little  while  I  have  to  get  out  something  to 
mend  with  or  patch  or  make  over  again.  I  wish  you 
would  go  and  see  what  Carl  and  Jessie  are  doing; 
down  at  the  branch,  I  reckon,  and  feet  all  wet,  and 
they  have  both  got  dreadful  colds.  I  can't  keep  them 
away  from  that  branch. ' ' 

"Dident  you  play  in  the  branch,  my  dear,  when 
you  were  a  child?"  said  I.  "Yes,"  she  said,  mourn 
fully,  "but  nothing  couldent  hurt  me  then;  we  were 
not  raised  so  delicate  in  those  days.  You  know  I  used 
to  ride  to  the  plantation,  twelve  miles,  and  back  again 
in  a  day  and  bring  a  bag  of  fruit  on  the  horn  of 


BILL    AKP.  209 

the  saddle,  but  the  girls  couldent  do  it  now.  They 
can  go  to  a  party  in  a  buggy  and  dance  half  the 
night,  but  that  is  all  excitement,  and  they  are  not  fit 
for  anything  the  next  day.  We  dident  have  any 
dances— hardly  ever— we  went  to  the  country  wed 
dings  sometimes.  You  remember  we  went  to  James 
Dunlap's  wedding,  when  he  married  Eebecca  Sam- 
mons.  That  was  a  big  frolic— an  old-fashioned 
frolic.  Everybody  was  there  from  all  the  nabor- 
hood,  and  there  were  more  turkeys  and  roast  pig 
and  cake  than  I  ever  saw,  and  we  played  everything 
we  could  think  of.  Eebecca  was  pretty  then,  but, 
poor  woman— she  has  had  a  thousand  children,  too, 
just  like  myself,  and  I  reckon  she  is  faded,  too,  and 
tired.'7  "But  Jim  Dunlap  hasn't  faded,"  said  I. 
"I  see  him  when  I  go  to  Atlanta,  and  he  is  big  and 
fat  and  merry— looks  a  little  like  old  David  Davis. " 
"Oh,  yes,  of  course  he  does,"  said  Mrs.  Arp. 
"The  men  don't  know  anything  about  care  and 
anxiety  and  sleepless  nights.  It's  a  wonder  to  me 
they  die  at  all.  "But  I  have  helped  you  all  I  could, 
my  dear,"  said  I,  "and  you  see  it's  telling  on  me. 
Look  at  these  silver  hairs,  and  these  wrinkles  and 
crows-feet,  and  my  back  hurts  ever  and  anon,  and 
this  rainy,  bad  weather  gives  me  rheumatism,  but 
you  haven't  a  gray  hair  and  hardly  a  seam  on  your 
alabaster  forehead.  Why,  you  will  outlive  me,  too, 
and  maybe  there  will  be  a  rich  widower  stepping 
around  here  in  my  shoes,  and  you  will  have  a  fine 
carriage  and  a  pair  of  beautiful  bay  horses,  and— ' ' 
"William,  I  told  you  to  go  after  Carl  and  Jessie." 
"If  Vanderbilt's  wife  should  die  and  he  could  ac 
cidentally  see  you,"  said  I,  "after  I'm  gone,  there's 
no  telling—" 

(14) 


210  BILL   AKP. 

"Well,  go  along  now  and  find  the  children,  and 
when  you  come  back  I'll  listen  to  your  foolishness. 
I'm  not  going  to  let  you  die  if  I  can  help  it,  for  I 
don't  know  what  would  become  of  us  all.  Yes,  you 
have  helped  me,  I  know,  and  been  a  great  comfort 
and  did  the  best  you  could— most  of  the  time;  yes, 
most  of  the  time— and  I  might  have  done  worse, 
and  you  must  nurse  me  now  and  pet  me,  for  I  am 
getting  childish."  "And  you  must  pet  me,  too," 
said  I.  "Oh,  of  course  I  will,"  said  she;  "am  I  not 
always  petting  you?  Now  go  along  after  the  chil 
dren  before  we  both  get  to  crying  and  have  a  scene ; 
and  I  wish  you  would  see  if  the  buff  cochin  hen  has 
hatched  in  the  hen  house."  "She  has  been  setting 
about  fourteen  weeks,"  said  I,  "but  she  is  getting 
old,  and  these  old  mothers  are  slow,  mighty  slow." 

I  went  after  the  children,  and  sure  enough  they 
were  fishing  in  the  spring  branch,  and  their  shoes 
were  wet  and  muddy,  and  they  were  bare-headed, 
and  I  marched  them  up  tenderly,  and  Mrs.  Arp  set 
them  down  by  the  fire  and  dried  their  shoes,  and  got 
them  some  more  stockings,  and  then  opened  their 
little  morning  school.  How  patiently  these  old- 
fashioned  mothers  work  and  worry  over  the  little 
things  of  domestic  life.  Day  after  day,  and  night 
after  night,  they  labor  and  watch  and  watch  and 
wait,  while  the  fathers  are  contriving  some  big 
thing  to  keep  up  the  family  supplies.  Parents  are 
very  much  like  chickens.  The  old  hen  will  set  and 
set  and  starve,  and  when  the  brood  comes  will  go 
scratching  for  worms  and  bugs  as  hard  as  she  can 
and  be  always  clucking  and  looking  out  for  hawks, 
but  the  old  rooster  will  strut  around  and  notice  the 
little  chickens  with  a  paternal  pride,  and  when  he 


BILL   AEP.  211 

scratches  up  a  bug  makes  a  big  fuss  over  it  and  calls 
them  with  a  flourish,  and  eats  it  himself  just  before 
they  get  there. 

That  was  a  mighty  good  talk  in  your  last  Sun 
day's  paper  about  sleep,  and  letting  folks  sleep  until 
nature  waked  'em.  He  was  a  smart  doctor  who  said 
all  that,  and  he  said  it  well,  but  I  couldent  help 
thinking  what  would  become  of  the  babies  if  the 
mothers  dident  wake  until  they  had  got  sleep  enough. 
There  are  no  regular  hours  for  them.  Job  speaks 
of  the  dark  watches  of  the  night  when  deep  sleep 
falleth  upon  a  man,  but  it  don't  fall  upon  a  weary 
mother  with  a  fretful  child  when  it  is  cutting  its 
front  teeth  and  wants  to  nurse  the  livelong  night. 
When  she  is  sleeping  she  is  awake,  and  when  she  is 
waking  she  is  half  asleep,  and  the  morning  brings 
no  rest  or  refreshment;  and  I  was  thinking,  too,  ot 
what  would  become  of  the  farm  if  the  boys  were  not 
waked  up  early  in  the  morning.  Not  many  boys  will 
wake  up  themselves,  and  they  must  be  called,  and 
in  course  of  time  have  habits  of  waking  forced  upon 
'em.  A  family  that  sleeps  late  will  always  be  behind 
with  farm  work.  I  do  not  believe  in  getting  up  be 
fore  day  and  eating  breakfast  by  candle  light,  but 
I  do  believe  in  early  rising.  I  don't  know  how  long 
my  children  would  sleep  if  I  did  not  call  'em,  for  I 
never  tried  it;  but  I  don't  call  Mrs.  Arp,  of  course, 
I  don't,  though  she  says  I  had  just  as  well,  for  I 
stamp  around  and  slam  the  doors  and  whistle  and 
sing  until  there  is  no  more  sleep  for  her.  She  wants 
me  to  build  her  a  little  house  away  off  in  the  gar 
den,  where  she  can  sleep  enough  to  make  up  for  lost 
time,  and  be  always  calm  and  serene,  and  I  think  I 
will. 


212  BILL   AEP. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


THE  OLD  TIMES,  ALEXANDER  STEPHENS,  ETC. 

Two  cents— only  two  cents.  When  I  look  at  a  post 
age  stamp  it  carries  me  away  back— back  to  the  time 
when  my  father  was  postmaster  and  I  was  clerk  and 
had  to  make  up  the  mails  in  a  country  town.  The 
difference  between  now  and  then  shows  that  the 
world's  progress  in  this  department  is  hardly  ex 
celled  in  any  other  branch  of  improvement.  We 
couldn't  bear  to  be  set  back  again  in  the  old  ways 
that  our  fathers  thought  were  pretty  good.  There 
were  no  stamps  and  no  envelopes  and  no  mucilage. 
The  paper  was  folded  up  like  a  thumb-paper,  and  one 
side  slipped  in  the  other  end  and  sealed  with  a  wafer. 
The  little  school-boys,  you  know,  had  to  use 
thumb-papers  in  their  spelling  books  to  keep  them 
clean  where  their  dirty  hands  kept  the  pages  open. 
Girls  didn't  have  to  use  them,  for  they  were  nicer  and 
kept  their  hands  clean,  and  didn't  wear  out  the  leaves 
by  the  friction  of  their  fingers.  Boys  are  rough 
things  anyhow,  and  I  don't  see  what  a  nice,  sweet, 
pretty  girl  wants  with  one  of  'em.  Girls,  they  say, 
are  made  of  sugar  and  spice  and  all  that's  nice,  but 
boys  are  made  of  snaps  and  snails  and  puppy  dogs' 
tails.  Josephus  says  that  when  the  Queen  of  Sheba 
was  testing  Solomon's  wisdom,  she  had  fifty  boys 
and  fifty  girls  all  dressed  alike  in  girls'  clothes  and 
seated  around  a  big  room,  and  asked  the  king  to  pick 
out  the  boys  from  the  girls ;  and  he  called  for  a  basin 
of  water  and  had  it  carried  around  to  each  one  and 


BILL   AKP.  213 

told  them  to  wash  their  hands.  The  girls  all  rolled 
up  their  sleeves  a  little  bit,  the  boys  just  sloshed  their 
hands  in  any  way,  and  got  water  all  over  their 
aprons,  and  so  the  king  spotted  every  mother's  son 
of  them. 

The  postage  used  to  be  regulated  by  the  distance 
that  Uncle  Sam  carried  the  letters.  It  was  12% 
cents  anywhere  in  the  state,  and  18%  cents  to 
Charleston,  and  25  cents  to  New  York.  It  was  never 
prepaid.  A  man  could  afflict  another  with  a  pis- 
tareen  letter  that  wasent  worth  five  cents.  A  pis- 
tareen,  you  know,  was  18%  cents— that  is  a  seven- 
pence  and  a  thrip.  We  had  no  dimes  or  half  dimes. 
The  dollars  were  cut  up  into  eighths  instead  of 
tenths.  When  a  countryman  called  for  letters  and 
got  one,  he  would  look  at  it  some  time  and  turn  it 
over  and  meditate  before  he  paid  for  it,  and  very 
often  they  would  say,  "  where  did  this  letter  come 
from?"  Well,  I  would  say,  for  instance,  "it  came 
from  Dahlonega— don't  you  see  Dahlonega  written 
up  on  the  corner?"  Then  he  would  say,  "well,  1 
reckon  it's  from  Dick,  my  brother  Dick.  He  is  up 
there  diggin'  gold.  Don't  you  reckon  it's  from 
Dick?"  "I  reckon  it  is,"  said  I.  "Why  don't  you 
open  it  and  see."  When  he  got  home  that  letter 
would  be  an  event  in  the  family,  and  perhaps  it 
would  take  them  half  an  hour  to  wade  through  it 
and  make  out  its  contents.  Nine  out  of  ten  of  those 
country  letters  began,  "I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  let 
you  know  that  I  am  well,  and  hope  these  few  lines 
will  find  you  enjoying  the  same  blessing."  My 
father  kept  store,  and  his  country  customers  used  to 
ask  him  to  write  their  letters  for  them,  and  he  always 
sent  them  to  me,  and  most  of  them  told  me  to  begin 
their  letters  that  way.  There  was  not  more  than  one 


214  BILL   AKP. 

in  five  that  could  write,  but  they  were  good,  clever, 
honest  people  and  paid  their  debts,  but  they  hardly 
ever  paid  up  in  full  at  the  end  of  the  year,  and  so 
they  gave  their  notes  for  the  balance  and  made  their 
mark.  My  father  used  to  say  that  he  had  known 
cases  where  a  man  swore  off  his  written  signature, 
but  he  never  knew  a  man  to  deny  his  mark.  Our 
big  northern  mail  used  to  come  in  a  stage  from  Mad 
ison  twice  a  week,  and  I  used  to  think  the  sound  of 
the  stage-horn,  as  the  stage  came  over  the  hill,  was 
one  of  the  sublimest  things  in  the  world,  and  I 
thought  that  if  ever  I  got  to  be  a  man  I  would  be  a 
stage-driver  if  I  could.  Well,  I  came  pretty  near  it, 
for  my  father  had  hired  a  man  to  ride  the  mail  to 
Eoswell  and  back  twice  a  week,  and  the  man  got  sick 
and  so  my  father  put  me  on  a  dromedary  of  a  horse 
and  the  mail  in  some  saddle-bags  behind  me,  and  I 
had  to  make  the  forty-eight  miles  in  a  day  and  kept 
it  up  all  the  winter.  I  like  to  have  frozen  several 
times,  and  had  to  be  lifted  off  the  horse  when  I  got 
home,  and  it  nearly  broke  my  mother's  heart,  but  I 
was  getting  a  dollar  a  trip  and  it  was  my  money,  and 
so  I  wouldn't  back  out.  The  old  women  on  the  route 
used  to  crowd  me  with  their  little  commissions  and 
get  me  to  bring  them  pepper,  or  copperas,  or  blue 
ing,  or  pins  and  needles,  or  get  me  to  take  along 
some  socks  and  sell  them,  and  so  I  made  friends  and 
acquaintances  all  the  way.  The  first  trip  I  made, 
an  old  woman  hailed  me  and  said,  "Are  you  a  mail 
boy!"  "Why,  yes,  mam,"  said  I.  "You  dident 
think  I  was  a  female  boy,  did  you?"  I  thought  that 
was  smart,  but  it  wasent  very  civil,  and  as  she 
turned  her  back  on  me  I  heard  her  say,  "I'll  bet  he's 
a  little  stuck  up  town  boy." 


BILL   AEP.  215 

My  father  was  postmaster  for  nearly  thirty  years. 
It  didn't  pay  more  than  about  $200  a  year,  but  it 
made  his  store  more  of  a  public  place.  He  didn't 
know  that  anybody  else  hankered  after  it  or  was  try 
ing  to  get  it,  but  all  of  a  sudden  he  got  his  orders  to 
turn  over  the  office  to  another  man,  an  old  line  Whig 
and  a  competitor  in  business.  It  mortified  him  very 
much  and  made  us  all  mad,  for  there  was  no  fault 
found  with  his  management,  and  he  never  took  much 
interest  in  politics  but  voted  for  the  man  he  liked  the 
best  whether  he  was  a  Whig  or  a  Democrat.  When 
he  found  that  Alex.  Stephens  had  it  done  he  wasent 
a  Stephens  man  any  more,  and  I  grew  up  with  an 
idea  Mr.  Stephens  was  a  political  fraud.  I  dident 
understand  the  science  of  politics  as  well  as  I  do 
now.  I  told  Mr.  Stephens  about  it  one  night  at 
Milledgeville  when  we  were  all  in  a  good  humor  and 
were  talking  about  old  times  of  Whigs  and  Demo 
crats;  he  smiled  and  said,  "yes,  we  had  to  do  those 
things,  and  sometimes  they  were  very  disagree 
able."  I  will  never  fotget  that  night's  talk.  It  was 
during  the  session  of  the  first  legislature  after  the 
war.  Jim  Waddell  took  me  to  Mr.  Stephens'  room 
to  hear  him  talk,  and  there  was  Mr.  Jenkins  and 
Tom  Hardeman  and  Benning  Moore  and  Beverly 
Thornton  and  Peter  Strozier  and  Dr.  Eidley  and 
some  others,  and  everybody  was  in  a  good  humor, 
and  Mr.  Stephens  was  reclining  on  his  bed  and  told 
anecdote  after  anecdote  about  the  old  Whigs  and 
how  he  met  the  Democrats  on  the  stump  and  what 
they  said  and  what  he  said,  and  he  most  always  got 
the  advantage  and  carried  the  crowd  with  him.  I 
was  very  much  fascinated  with  his  conversation,  but 
couldent  help  being  reminded  of  a  circumstance 


216  BILL   AKP. 

that  transpired  some  years  before  in  the  town  of 
Calhoun.  The  Whigs  of  Gordon  county  had  sent  for 
Mr.  Stephens  to  come  up  and  make  a  speech  and 
rally  the  boys  for  the  next  election,  for  Gordon  was 
pretty  equally  balanced  between  Whigs  and  Demo 
crats;  the  Whigs  wanted  a  big  revival.  So  Aleck 
accepted,  and  when  the  day  came  the  crowd  was 
tremendous.  The  Democrats  had  tried  to  get  How- 
ell  Cobb  and  Herschel  Johnson  to  come  up  and  re 
ply  to  Aleck,  but  they  couldent  come,  and  so  little 
Aleck  had  it  all  his  own  way.  In  the  meantime  the 
Democratic  boys  had  hunted  up  A.  M.  Eussell  and 
got  his  promise  to  reply  to  Mr.  Stephens.  Eussell 
was  an  original  genius.  He  was  gifted  in  language, 
gifted  in  imagination,  gifted  in  cheek,  gifted  in  ly 
ing,  and  was  utterly  regardless  of  consequences. 

Mr.  Stephens  made  a  splendid  speech.  He  ar 
raigned  the  Democracy  and  held  them  up  to  ridi 
cule,  and  when  he  got  through  the  Whigs  were  more 
than  satisfied;  and  Mr.  Stephens  was  satisfied  too, 
—he  came  down  from  the  stand  and  was  receiving 
the  congratulations  of  his  friends,  when  suddenly 
Eussell  mounted  the  rostrum  and,  rapping  on  the 
plank  in  front  of  him,  screamed  out  in  one  unearth 
ly  yell :  ' '  Fellow  citizens ! ' '  Everybody  knew  him, 
and  everybody  wanted  to  hear  him,  and  hushel  into 
silence.  After  a  sentence  or  two  Mr.  Stephens  was 
attracted  to  him,  and  with  curious  and  astonished 
interest  inquired,  "Who  is  that  man?"  After  Eus 
sell  had  paid  an  eloquent  tribute  to  the  glorious  old 
Democratic  party,  and  given  it  credit  for  every 
good  thing  that  had  been  done  since  the  fall  of 
Adam,  he  then  turned  to  Mr.  Stephens,  and,  with  a 
sneering  scorn,  said:  "And  what  have  you  and 


BILL    ARP.  217 

your  party  been  doing  and  trying  to  do!  What 
made  you  vote  away  the  public  lands  so  that  Yan 
kees  and  furriners  could  get  'em  and  our  people 
couldent!  What  made  you  vote  for  high  tariff  on 
sugar  and  coffee  and  raise  the  price  so  that  our  poor 
people  couldent  buy  it?"  Mr.  Stephens  arose,  ex 
cited  and  irritated,  and  stretching  his  long  arm  to 
the  audience,  screamed  out:  "I  never  did  it,  my 
fellow  citizens— I  deny  the  fact  and  call  upon  the 
gentlemen  for  his  proof. "  With  the  utmost  self- 
possession,  Eussell  said,  "You  do— you  call  for  the 
proof.  Sir,  if  I  was  to  go  200  miles  from  home  to 
make  a  speech  I  would  carry  my  proof  with  me.  I 
wouldent  be  vain  enough  to  go  without  it ;  but,  sir,  I 
am  at  home— these  people  know  me— they  raised 
me,  and  when  I  assert  a  thing  they  believe  me.  You 
are  the  men  to  bring  the  proof. "  The  crowd  shout 
ed  and  laughed  as  tumultously  as  they  had  done  for 
Mr.  Stephens,  and  he  sat  down  disgusted.  Eussell 
continued:  "And  what  was  your  motive  when  you 
were  a  member  of  the  legislature  in  voting  for  a 
law  that  prohibited  a  man  from  voting  unless  he 
was  worth  $500?  Answer  me  that  while  you  are 
here  face  to  face  with  these  humble  citizens  of  Gor 
don  county."  At  this  Mr.  Stephens  rose  again, 
furious  with  indignation,  and  screamed:  "It  is 
false,  sir,  it  is  false;  I  deny  that  fact." 

"You  do,"  said  Eussell,  scornfully,  "I  supposed 
you  would— you  deny  the  fact.  That  is  just  what 
you  have  been  doing  for  twenty  years— going  about 
over  the  country  denying  facts."  And  the  crowd 
went  wild  with  merriment,  for  even  the  Whigs 
couldn't  help  joining  in  the  fun.  Mr.  Stephens 


218  BILL   AEP. 

turned  to  his  companions  and  said  with  a  tone  of 
despair,  "Let  us  go  to  the  hotel;"  and  they  went. 

I  thought  of  all  this  while  Mr.  Stephens  was  tell 
ing  me  of  his  triumphs  over  veteran  foes,  and  so 
when  he  came  to  a  pause  I  timidly  said:  "Mr. 
Stephens,  did  you  ever  encounter  a  man  by  the  name 
of  Eussell  up  at  Calhoun?" 

With  a  merry  glistening  of  his  wonderful  eyes  he 
straightened  up  and  said:  "I  did,  I  did,  yes,  I  did. 
I  will  never  forget  that  man.  He  got  me  complete 
ly.  If  I  had  known  him  I  would  not  have  said  a 
word  in  reply,  hut  I  dident  know  him.  He  cured 
me  of  one  expression.  I  frequently  used  to  empha 
size  my  denial  of  lies  and  slander,  and  that  was  to 
say,  'I  deny  the  fact/  I  had  never  thought  of  its 
grammatical  absurdity,  but  that  man  Eussell  taught 
me  and  I  quit  it.  I  think  he  had  the  most  wonder 
ful  flow  of  language  and  lies  of  any  man  I  ever 
met. ' '  Mr.  Stephens  then  made  a  pretty  fair  recital 
of  his  encounter  and  his  "utter  defeat,"  as  he  ex 
pressed  it,  all  of  which  we  enjoyed.  Where  are  they 
now!  Old  Father  Time  has  cut  them  all  down  but 
three,  Hardeman  and  Thornton  and  myself  are 
here,  but  all  the  rest  of  that  bright,  intelligent  crowd 
are  gone.  It  looks  like  most  everybody  is  dead.  If 
they  are  not  they  will  be  before  long,  and  another 
set  will  be  in  their  places  and  have  their  jokes  and 
flash  their  wit  and  merriment  all  the  same. 


BILL   ARP.  219 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


STICKING  TO  THE  OLD. 

As  the  world  grows  older  mankind  becomes  more 
liberal  in  opinion  and  less  wedded  to  prejudice  and 
superstition.  We  rub  against  one  another  so  closely 
nowadays,  and  talk  so  much  and  read  so  much  that 
our  conceit  is  weakening,  and  we  think  more  and 
think  deeper  than  we  used  to,  and  we  are  more  ready 
to  absorb  knowledge.  A  man  don't  dare  nowadays 
to  say  anything  is  impossible,  for  many  impossibili 
ties  have  already  been  performed,  and  we  now  live 
in  a  state  of  anxious  expectation  as  to  what  big  thing 
will  come  next.  Still,  there  are  some  folks  who  stub 
bornly  refuse  to  fall  into  line,  and  they  stand  by  the 
old  landmarks.  Not  long  ago  I  passed  by  a  black 
smith  shop  away  off  in  the  country,  and  there  was  a 
horse  doctor  cutting  the  hooks  out  of  a  horse's  eyes 
to  keep  him  from  going  blind,  and  he  got  very  indig 
nant  when  I  told  him  that  the  horse  books  were  all 
against  it,  and  said  it  ought  to  be  prohibited  by  law. 
I  heard  an  old  hardshell  arguing  against  this  idea 
that  the  world  turned  over  every  day,  and  he  de 
clared  it  was  against  common  sense  and  Scripture, 
and  he  wouldent  let  his  children  go  to  school  to  learn 
any  such  nonsense,  for  he  knowed  that  the  water 
would  all  spill  out  if  you  turned  it  upside  down,  and 
the  Scripters  said  that  Joshua  commanded  the  sun 
to  stand  still,  and  it  stood  still ;  and  he  asked  me  how 
I  was  going  to  get  over  the  like  of  that.  I  saw  that 
the  crowd  was  against  me,  and  so  I  replied:  "  Jesso, 


220  BILL    AEP. 

Jesso,  my  friend.  And  right  then  the  wonderful 
change  took  place.  The  sun  used  to  go  around  the 
earth,  of  course,  but  Joshua  stopped  it  and  he  never 
set  it  to  going  again,  and  it  is  there  yet." 

This  weakened  the  old  man  a  little  and  unsettled 
the  crowd,  and  I  got  away  from  there  prematurely 
for  fear  the  old  man  would  send  for  his  Bible.  An 
swer  a  fool  according  to  his  folly  is  a  good  way 
sometimes.  Dr.  Harden  told  me  about  his  father 
raising  a  rumpus  a  long  time  ago  in  Watkinsville 
by  asserting  that  all  horses  had  botts  in  'em,  and  it 
was  accordin'  to  nature  and  the  botts  were  not  a 
disease,  and  a  horse  never  died  on  account  of  'em. 
Old  man  Moore  kept  the  tavern  there,  and  he  swore 
that  Harden  was  a  luniack,  and  so  one  day  when 
they  were  playing  checkers  in  the  tavern  a  storm 
came  up  and  a  terrible  crash  was  heard,  and  pretty 
soon  a  darkey  came  running  in  the  house  and  told 
his  master  the  lightning  had  struck  his  iron  grey 
horse  and  killed  him.  Old  man  Moore  thought  as 
much  of  that  horse  as  he  did  of  his  wife,  and  the 
crowd  all  hurried  out  to  the  lot  to  see  him.  Moore 
was  greatly  distressed  and  used  bad  language  about 
the  catastrophe;  and  after  he  had  subsided  a  little 
Harden  says,  says  he,  "Now,  Moore,  if  you  say  so, 
I'll  cut  open  that  horse  and  show  you  the  botts,  and 
I  reckon  that  will  settle  it. "  So  Moore  agreed  to  it, 
and  when  he  was  opened,  and  the  botts  began  to  cut 
their  way  out  and  worm  around,  Harden  looked  at 
Moore  with  triumphant  satisfaction  and  paused  for 
a  reply.  Moore  had  his  hands  crossed  behind  his 
back,  and  was  gazing  intently  at  the  ugly  varmints, 
when  suddenly  he  exclaimed,  "Harden,  I  was  pow 
erful  mad  with  that  lightning  for  killing  old  Selim, 
but  I  ain't  now,  for  if  the  lightning  hadent  struck 


BILL   ARP.  221 

him  I'll  be  damned  if  them  infernal  botts  wouldent 
have  killed  him  in  thirty  minutes. ' ' 

Moore  had  a  big  fighting  stump-tail  dog  by  the 
name  of  Eatler,  and  one  day  a  little  Italian  came 
along  with  an  organ  and  a  monkey,  and  as  the  crowd 
gathered  around  he  asked  the  man  if  his  monkey 
could  fight.  "Oh,  yes,  he  fight, "  said  the  Italian. 
"Will  he  fight  a  dog!"  said  Moore.  "Oh,  yes;  he 
fight  a  dog— he  whip  dog  quick,"  said  the  Italian. 
Moore  pulled  out  a  five  dollar  bill,  and  said:  "I'll 
bet  you  this  that  IVe  got  a  dog  he  can't  whip." 
The  little  fellow  covered  it  with  another  five  and  the 
money  was  handed  over  to  a  stakeholder  and  they 
went  through  to  the  back  yard,  followed  by  half  the 
folks  in  the  little  town.  There  lay  the  dog  on  the 
grass  asleep,  and  at  the  word  the  little  Italian  tossed 
the  monkey  on  him.  In  less  than  a  jiffey  the  little 
brute  had  his  teeth  and  his  claws  fastened  like  a  vise 
in  the  stump  of  that  dog's  tail  and  was  screeching 
like  a  hyena.  The  dog  gave  but  one  astonished 
look  behind  as  he  bounced  to  his  feet  and  made 
tracks  for  another  country.  The  monkey  held  on 
until  Eatler  sprung  over  a  ten-rail  fence  at  the  back 
of  the  garden,  when  he  suddenly  quit  his  hold  and 
sat  on  the  top  rail,  and  watched  the  dog 's  flight  with 
a  chatter  of  perfect  satisfaction  and  danced  along 
the  rail  with  delight.  The  crowd  was  convulsed. 
They  laughed  and  roared  and  hollered  tumultuously, 
all  but  old  man  Moore,  whose  voice  could  be  heard 
above  all  others  as  he  stood  upon  the  fence  and 
shouted,  "Here,  Eatler,  here,  here;  here,  Eatler, 
here;  here,  Eatler,  here."  But  Eatler  wouldent 
hear.  Eatler  rattled  on  and  on,  across  field  after 
field,  until  he  got  to  the  woods  and  was  gone  from 


222  BILL   ABP. 

human  sight.  The  Italian  shouldered  his  monkey 
affectionately,  and  walking  up  to  Moore,  said: 
"Your  dog  not  well  to-day;  maybe  your  dog  gone 
off  to  hunt  rabbeet.  Your  dog  no  like  my  monkey 
—he  not  acquaint.  Maybe  ven  I  come  again  next 
year  he  come  and  fight  some  more.  Ven  you  look 
for  him  to  come  back?"  Moore  gave  up  the  wager, 
but  he  asserted  solemnly  that  Eatler  would  have 
whipped  the  fight  if  he  hadent  have  run.  i  l  The  sur 
prise,  gentlemen,  the  surprise  was  what  done  it," 
said  he,  "for  that  dog  has  whipped  wild  cats  and  a 
bear  and  a  she  wolf  and  every  dog  in  ten  miles  of 
Watkinsville. "  And  all  that  evening  and  away  in 
the  night  and  early  the  next  morning  an  inviting, 
mournful  voice  could  be  heard  at  the  back  of  the 
garden  calling,  "Eatler,  here;  Eatler,  here;"  and 
three  days  after  a  man  brought  Eatler  home,  but  he 
had  lost  his  integrity  and  never  could  be  induced  to 
fight  anything  more. 

Some  men  never  give  up  a  thing,  and  some  give  up 
too  much.  Judge  Bleckley  says  that  he  is  in  the 
cautious,  credulous  state  about  everything,  and  just 
lives  along  serenely  and  waits  for  events.  He  says 
that  if  a  man  can  hear  the  voice  of  a  friend  from 
New  York  to  Boston  by  the  aid  of  a  telephone,  why 
shouldn't  all  the  other  senses  be  aided  in  like  man 
ner  by  some  invention;  and  he  hints  that  he 
wouldent  be  surprised  at  an  invention  that  would 
enable  a  man  to  kiss  his  wife  across  the  Atlantic 
ocean.  I  don't  think  that  follows  to  reason,  for 
hearing  and  seeing  are  both  for  distance,  and  so  is 
smelling,  but  feeling  is  a  very  different  thing.  Feel 
ing  means  contact,  and  the  closer  the  contact  the 
more  intense  the  feeling.  It  never  was  intended  to 


BILL   ABP.  223 

feel  afar  off,  and  so  I  don't  believe  that  any  good 
would  come  of  a  man  kissing  Ms  wife  through  a 
machine  a  thousand  miles  long.  It  would  be  very 
dangerous,  for  it  might  encourage  folks  to  be  kiss 
ing  other  people's  wives,  and  the  machine  would  be 
kept  busy  all  the  time,  for  there  are  some  men  who 
couldent  be  choked  off,  and  by  and  by  the  whole 
world  would  be  kissing  one  another,  and  business 
would  be  neglected  and  mankind  would  come  to 
want. 

But  I  do  believe  that  everything  will  come  that 
ought  to  come.  Nature  has  a  mighty  big  store 
house,  and  she  always  unlocks  it  at  the  right  time. 
She  is  very  economical  of  her  treasures,  and  keeps 
7em  from  us  until  she  sees  that  we  are  obliged  to 
have  'em.  Cotton  dident  come,  nor  cotton  machin 
ery,  until  the  world  was  bad  off  for  clothing.  The 
sewing  machine  come  along  just  as  the  poor  women 
were  about  worn  out,  and  Tom  Hood  had  written 
his  sad,  sweet  "Song  of  the  Shirt."  Coal  was 
found  when  wood  got  scarce  in  the  old  world.  Bail- 
roads  and  steamships  were  invented  as  population 
increased,  and  now  we  couldent  possibly  do  without 
'em.  Old  Peter  Cooper  said  that  a  million  people 
would  perish  in  New  York  city  in  one  month  if  the 
cars  were  to  stop  running  that  long.  Then  came  the 
telegraph,  and  now  the  telephone,  and  I  don't  think 
any  other  very  big  thing  will  happen  soon,  for  man 
kind  is  very  comfortable,  and  don't  need  it,  so  let 
us  all  rest  awhile  and  let  Dame  Nature  rest.  She 
has  been  very  kind  to  her  creatures,  and  we  all 
ought  to  be  thankful. 


224  BILL    AKP. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


A  PROSE  POEM  ON  SPRING. 

On  this  pellucid  day  when  the  sky  is  so  beautifully 
blue  and  the  sun  so  warm  and  cheerful,  when  the 
jaybirds  are  chanting  their  safe  return  from  purga 
tory,  and  the  crows  are  cawing  over  the  sprouting 
corn,  when  the  sheep  bells  tinkle  merrily  in  the 
meadow  and  the  children  and  chickens  are  cackling 
around,  it  seems  like  everything  in  nature  was  hap 
py  and  everybody  ought  to  be.  The  darkies  are 
singing  to  the  mules  in  the  cotton  field  and  are  hap 
pier  with  a  little  than  the  white  folks  are  with  a 
good  deal.  The  darkey  never  borrows  trouble.  I 
wish  our  race  would  take  a  few  lessons  in  content 
ment  from  'em— not  enough  to  make  us  shiftless 
and  with  no  ambition  to  better  our  condition,  but 
enough  to  stop  this  restlessness,  this  wild  rush  for 
money,  this  wear  and  tear  upon  brain  and  heart 
that  is  getting  to  be  the  curse  of  the  land.  I  wish 
everybody  was  happy  and  had  nothing  against  no 
body.  I  wish  every  farmer  had  fine  horses  and  fat 
cattle  and  plenty  of  pocket  change,  and  dident  have 
to  work  only  when  he  felt  like  it.  I  wish  I  had  a 
winter  home  in  Florida  with  orange  groves  and 
pineapples  and  bananas,  and  a  summer  home  up 
among  the  mountains,  and  a  railroad  and  palace 
cars  between  the  two,  and  a  free  pass  over  the  line 
and  plenty  of  money  at  both  ends  of  it.  I  wish  I 
was  a  king  with  a  mint  of  gold  and  silver  at  my 


J 


SARA    HUTCHINS     SMITH,    AT    5    1-2     MONTHS. 

This  little  granddaughter  of  Bill  Arp  died  two  days  after  him,  and  lies  in 
the  same  vault  with  him. 


BILL    AKP.  225 

command,  so  I  could  go  about  in  disguise  and  min 
gle  with  the  poor  and  friendless  and  lift  them  up 
out  of  distress  and  make  'em  happy.  I  wish  I  was  a 
genii  like  we  read  of  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  and 
could,  at  a  breath,  build  palaces  and  make  diamonds 
and  pearls  and  marry  all  the  poor  girls  to  rich  hus 
bands,  and  all  the  struggling  boys  to  princesses  and 
kick  up  a  cloud  of  golden  dust  wherever  I  went. 
No  I  don't,  either,  for  I  know  now  that  the  like  of 
that  wouldent  bring  happiness  in  this  sublunary 
world.  The  best  condition  for  a  man  is  to  have 
neither  poverty  nor  riches.  Old  Agur  prayed  a 
good  prayer  and  he  knew  how  it  was— 

For  riches  bring  us  trouble  when  they  come, 
And  there's  want  in  the  homes  of  the  poor, 

But  it 's  good  for  a  man  to  have  a  little  sum 
To  keep  away  the  wolf  from  the  door. 

Some  folks  are  never  happy  unless  they  are  mis 
erable.  Their  livers  are  green  and  yellow  like  mel 
ancholy,  and  they  want  everything  they  can  get  and 
would  rather  see  mankind  going  to  hell  than  to 
heaven  if  they  could  stay  behind  and  play  wreckers 
on  eternity's  shore.  I  have  seen  men  whose  very 
presence  would  dry  up  all  hilarity  as  quick  as  a 
slack  tub  cools  hot  iron;  men  who  never  smile  wil 
lingly,  and  when  they  force  one  the  cadaverous 
visage  is  lit  up  for  a  moment  with  a  brimstone  light, 
and  then  relapses  into  its  natural  scowl.  Such  peo 
ple  are  a  nuisance  upon  society,  and  ought  to  be 
abolished  or  put  into  a  lower  asylum  like  luniacks. 
I've  no  more  toleration  for  'em  than  for  a  mad  dog, 
and  if  there's  any  apology  it's  in  favor  of  the  dog. 

How  inspiriting  is  the  earliest  breath  of   spring, 

(15) 


226  BILL   ARP. 

when  nature  like  a  blushing  maid  is  putting  on  her 
pantalets  and  preparing  to  bang  her  silken  hair. 
How  quickly  it  brings  to  life  the  slumbering  emo 
tions  which,  though  chilled  by  the  frosts  and  the 
winds  of  winter,  were  not  dead,  but  only  lay  dor 
mant  like  a  bear  in  his  den.  What  harmonious  feel 
ings  spring  up  in  one's  bosom  and  gush  forth  to  all 
mankind.  This  balmy  weather  fills  all  the  chambers 
of  the  soul  with  music  that  is  not  heard  and  with 
poetry  that  is  not  expressed.  The  very  air  is  redo 
lent  with  love  and  peace.  Turnip  greens  are  run 
ning  up  to  seed,  the  plum  trees  are  in  bloom,  the 
busy  bee  is  sucking  their  fragrant  blossoms,  and  by 
and  by  will  be  stinging  the  children  as  usual.  The 
sweet  south  wind  is  breathing  upon  the  violet  banks. 
Alder  tags  hang  in  graceful  clusters  upon  their 
drooping  stems.  Jonquils  are  in  a  yellow  strut,  and 
the  odorous  shallots  are  about  right  for  the  frying 
pan.  The  little  silversides  and  minnows  have 
opened  their  spring  regattas.  The  classical  robin 
has  ceased  to  get  drunk  on  the  China  berry,  and  the 
ferocious  chicken  hawk  catches  about  one  a  day 
from  our  earliest  broods.  Everything  is  lively 

now- 
Over  the  meadows  the  new-born  lambs  are  skipping, 
Over  the  fields  the  little  boys  are  ripping. 

The  country  is  the  best  place  for  children.  What 
a  glorious  luxury  it  is  for  them  to  go  barefooted  and 
wade  in  the  branch  and  go  seining,  and  climb  trees 
and  hunt  birds'  nests,  and  carry  the  corn  to  mill, 
and  run  pony  races.  It  is  well  enough  for  a  man  to 
live  in  a  town  or  a  city  when  he  is  young  and  active, 
but  when  he  gets  married  and  the  little  chaps  come 
along  according  to  nature,  he  ought  to  get  on  a  farm 


BILL   AKP.  227 

to  raise  'em.  An  old  man  with  numerous  grand 
children  has  got  no  business  in  a  city.  What  a  bur 
lesque  on  childhood's  joy  it  must  be  to  visit  grandpa 
and  grandma  in  a  city  penned  up  in  brick  walls, 
with  a  few  sickly  flowers  in  the  window,  and  a  gar 
den  in  the  rear  about  as  big  as  a  wagon  sheet. 
Might  as  well  try  to  raise  good,  healthy,  vigorous 
colts  in  a  stableyard.  There  is  too  much  machinery 
about  raising  children  now-a-days  anyhow.  The 
race  is  running  out,  and  nothing  but  country  life 
can  save  it.  The  old  back-log  is  gone,  and  the  big, 
open,  friendly  fire-place,  and  the  cheerful,  blazing 
family  hearth;  and  now  it  is  a  hole  in  the  floor,  or 
iron  pipes  running  around  the  walls.  I  reckon  that 
is  economy,  but  in  my  opinion  a  man  can't  improve 
the  stock  that  way,  nor  keep  it  as  good  as  it  was. 
The  children  will  be  picayunish  and  over-nice  and 
sharp-featured  and  potty  before  and  gimlety  be 
hind.  They  won't  do  to  bet  on  like  those  chaps 
brought  up  around  a  fire-place  on  a  hundred-acre 
farm. 

Eaisin'  children  is  the  principal  business  of  hu 
man  life,  and  is  about  all  that  the  majority  of  man 
kind  are  working  for,  though  they  don't  know  it.  It 
is  the  excuse  for  all  the  mad  rush  of  business  that 
hurries  us  along.  It  is  the  apology  for  nearly  all 
the  cheating  and  stealing  and  lying  in  the  land. 
Working  for  the  children  is  behind  it  all,  and  the 
trouble  is  that  most  everybody  is  trying  to  do  too 
much  for  'em  and  scuffling  against  wind  and  tide  to 
keep  up  with  their  nabors  or  get  a  little  ahead.  Too 
many  fine  clothes,  too  many  kid  gloves  and  parasols 
and  new  bonnets— too  many  carpets  and  pictures 
and  curtains,  and  a  thousand  other  things  that  run 


228  BILL    AEP. 

up  the  outgo  bigger  than  the  income,  and  keep  the 
poor  fellows  always  on  a  strain.  I  love  to  humor 
'em  and  to  play  horse  with  'em,  and  tell  'em  stories 
about  Jack  and  the  bean  stalk,  and  what  I  did  when 
I  was  a  little  boy;  and  I  put  'em  to  bed  and  rub 
their  backs  and  let  'em  trot  around  with  me  a  good 
deal  on  week  days  and  all  day  Sunday,  but  I'm  not 
going  to  waste  my  slender  substance  on  'em,  for  it's 
nature's  law  that  they  must  work  for  a  living  and 
they  shall.  I'm  going  to  raise  'em  in  the  country, 
for,  as  Thomas  Jefferson  said:  "The  influence  of 
great  cities  is  pestilential  to  health  and  morals  and 
the  liberties  of  the  people." 


BILL    ARP.  229 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  FARM. 

A  happy  New  Year  to  you  and  your  readers.  I 
don 't  mean  just  the  first  day,  but  all  the  year  round. 
I  wish  from  my  heart  everybody  was  comfortable 
and  contented  and  everybody  lived  in  peace.  I  was 
ruminating  over  that  kind  of  a  mellenium  which 
would  come  if  there  were  no  bad  folks— no  lazy 
folks,  no  envy  nor  spite  nor  revenge— no  bad  pas 
sions,  but  everybody  took  things  easy  and  tried  to 
make  all  around  them  happy.  I  wasent  thinking 
about  a  religious  millennium  for  I  have  known  peo 
ple  to  make  mighty  good,  honorable  citizens  who 
dident  have  any  religion  to  spare,  and  some  who  had 
a  power  of  it  on  Sunday  but  was  a  juggling  with  the 
devil  all  the  rest  of  the  week.  I  was  thinking  about 
that  class  of  folks  who  gave  us  no  trouble  and  was 
always  willing  to  tote  fair.  The  law  wasent  made 
for  them.  I  was  thinking  about  the  half  a  million  of 
dollars  it  costs  to  run  the  State  government  a  year 
and  the  half  a  million  more  it  costs  to  run  the  coun 
ties  and  courts.  If  everybody  was  clever  and  kind 
we  could  save  most  all  of  it  and  in  a  few  years  every 
body  would  have  enough  to  be  comfortable  and  to 
educate  their  children.  The  laws  are  made  for  bad 
people  only,  and  bad  people  costs  us  about  all  the 
surplus  that's  made.  I  know  folks  all  around  me 
who  never  violate  a  law  or  impose  on  their  nabors 
or  have  a  law  suit,  and  it  seems  to  me  they  ought 
not  to  be  taxed  like  people  who  are  always  a  fussing 


230  BILL   AHP. 

around  the  courthouse  and  taking  up  the  time  of 
juries  and  witnesses.  There  ought  to  be  some  way 
to  reward  good  citizens  who  give  us  no  trouble  or 
expense,  and  to  make  folks  who  love  strife  and  con 
tention  pay  the  expense  of  it. 

But  I  started  out  wishing  for  a  happy  New  Year 
to  everybody,  and  my  opinion  is  that  we  can  all 
make  it  happy  if  we  try.  Let's  try.  Let 's  turn  over 
a  new  leaf.  Let's  have  a  Christmas  all  the  year 
long.  Let's  keep  the  family  hearth  always  bright 
and  pleasant.  Fussing  and  fretting  don't  pay. 
Solomon  says  it's  like  water  dropping  on  a  rock— it 
will  wear  away  a  stone.  The  home  of  an  unhappy 
discordant  family  is  no  home  at  all.  It  aint  even  a 
decent  purgatory.  The  children  won't  stay  there 
any  longer  than  possible.  They  will  emigrate  and 
I  don't  blame  em. 

We've  had  a  power  of  fun  at  my  house  the  last 
few  days.  Mrs.  Arp  said  she  was  going  to  town.  She 
had  a  little  passel  of  money  hid  away— nobody  knew 
how  much  or  where  she  got  it,  but  sometimes  when 
my  loose  change  is  laying  around  or  left  in  my  pock 
ets,  I've  noticed  that  it  disappears  very  mysteri 
ously.  It  took  about  two  hours  to  arrange  herself  for 
the  expedition  and  she  left  us  on  a  mission  of  peace 
on  earth  and  good  will  to  her  children. 

6 '  Now,  William,  you  know  the  Christmas  tree  is  to 
be  put  up  in  the  hall.  You  have  very  good  taste 
about  such  things  and  I  know  I  can  trust  you  without 
any  directions.  Put  in  that  large  square  box  in  the 
smoke  house  and  fasten  it  well  to  the  bottom,  and 
put  the  top  on  the  box  for  a  table,  and  the  girls  will 
cover  it  nicely  with  some  curtain  calico.  But  I  will 
not  direct  you,  for  I  know  you  can  fix  it  all  right. 
There  are  most  too  many  limbs  on  the  tree.  There 


BILL   ARP.  231 

is  a  lot  of  pop  corn  already  threaded  and  you  can 
arrange  them  in  festoons  all  over  the  tree,  and  the 
oranges  that  Dick  sent  us  from  Florida  are  locked 
up  in  the  pantry.  Thread  them  with  a  large  kneedle 
and  tie  them  all  about  on  the  limbs.  The  little  wax 
candles  and  the  tins  to  fasten  them  are  in  the  drawer 
of  my  bureau.  I  've  had  them  for  several  years  and 
we  will  light  up  the  tree  to-night.  The  milk  is  ready 
to  churn  you  know.  Set  the  jar  in  the  large  tin 
bucket  before  you  churn.  It  will  save  messing  the 
floor.  There  are  two  turkeys  in  the  coop— take  the 
fattest  one— you  can  tell  by  holding  them  up  in  your 
hands.  Ealph  will  help  about  the  turkey.  If  you 
think  one  turkey  will  not  be  enough  you  had  better 
kill  a  couple  of  chickens  to  go  with  it.  I  do  hope  all 
the  children  will  be  here,  but  I  am  afraid  they 
won't.  It  does  look  like  we  might  get  together  once 
a  year  anyhow.  Now  do  attend  to  the  turkey  just 
as  nice  as  you  can,  and  leave  the  butter  for  me  to 
work  over  when  I  come  back.  The  front  yard  ought 
to  be  swept  and  the  back  yard  is  an  awful  mess.  But 
I  will  just  leave  everything  to  you.  Keep  the  hall 
doors  locked,  for  the  children  mustent  see  the  tree 
until  Santa  Glaus  comes.  That  mistletoe  must  be 
put  over  the  parlor  pictures.  Hunt  up  a  few  more 
eggs  if  you  can  find  them.  Don't  disturb  the  mince 
pies  in  the  closet— never  mind  about  that  either,  for 
I've  got  the  key  in  my  pocket." 

It  always  did  seem  to  me  that  ours  was  the  nois 
iest,  liveliest  and  most  restless  set  that  ever  stumped 
a  toe  or  fell  into  the  branch.  They  went  through 
the  measles,  and  whoopin'  cough,  and  chicken  pox, 
and  I  don't  know  how  many  more  things,  without 
stoppin'  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  A  long  time 


232  BILL    AEP. 

ago  it  was  my  opinion  that  I  could  regulate  'em  and 
raise  'em  up  accordin'  to  science,  but  I  dident  find 
that  amount  of  co-operation  which  was  necessary 
to  make  a  fair  experiment.  On  the  contrary,  I 
found  myself  regulated,  besides  being  from  time  to 
time  reminded  by  their  maternal  ancestor  that  the 
children  were  hern,  and  to  this  day  she  always 
speaks  of  'em  as  "my  children."  Well  that's  a 
fact ;  her  title  is  mighty  good  to  'em  I  know,  and  on 
reflection  I  don't  remember  to  have  heard  any  dis 
pute  about  who  was  the  mother  of  a  child. 

Well,  we  can  sing  the  same  old  song— how  the  lit 
tle  folks  had  lived  on  tip-toe  for  many  days  waiting 
for  Santa  Glaus,  and  how  that  umble  parlor  was 
dressed  in  cedar  and  mistletoe,  and  the  big  back 
log  put  on,  and  the  blazing  fire  built  up,  and  the  lit 
tle  stockings  hung  by  the  mantel,  and  everything 
got  ready  for  the  kind  old  gentleman.  How  that 
blue-eyed  daughter  played  deputy  to  him,  and  was 
the  keeper  of  everybody's  secret;  and  shutting  her 
self  up  in  the  parlor,  arranged  everything  to  her 
notion.  How  that  when  supper  was  over  one  of  the 
boys  slipped  up  the  ladder  to  the  top  of  the  house 
with  his  cornet  and  tooted  a  few  merry  notes  as  the 
signal  that  Santa  Glaus  had  arrived.  Then  came 
the  infantile  squal,  and  the  youthful  yell,  and  the 
Arpian  shriek,  and  all  rushed  in  wild  commotion  to 
the  festive  hall.  Then  came  the  joyful  surprises, 
all  mixed  up  with  smiles  and  sunbeams,  and  excla 
mations  and  interjections.  Tumultuous  gladness 
gleamed  and  glistened  all  around,  and  the  big  buck 
et  of  family  joy  ran  over.  But  everybody  knows 
how  it  is  hisself,  and  don't  hanker  after  a  history 
of  other  people's  frolics. 


BILL   AEP.  233 

Well,  the  old  year  has  burried  its  dead,  and 
brought  forth  its  living  to  take  their  places.  And 
the  time  is  at  hand  when  everybody  is  going  to 
open  a  new  set  of  books,  and  turn  over  a  new  leaf 
and  pass  a  few  resolutions  to  be  kept  about  three 
weeks.  That's  all  right.  Keep  'em  as  long  as  you 
can,  but  don't  repent  of  this  year's  sins  too  much  at 
once.  Don't  get  too  much  religion  at  a  revival,  for 
by  and  by  the  snow  ,will  be  gone,  and  the  spring 
will  open  and  the  birds  begin  to  sing  and  the  flow 
ers  to  bloom  and  man's  conceit  and  independence 
come  back  to  him  and  make  him  forget  the  winter 
and  his  promises,  and  strut  around  like  he  was  run 
ning  the  whole  macheen.  But  it's  all  right,  judge, 
all  right,  as  Cobe  says.  If  a  man  is  good  accordin' 
to  his  capacity  he  can't  be  any  gooder. 


234  BILL    ARP. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV. 


DEMOCRATIC  PRINCIPLES. 

How  sweet  are  the  sounds  from  home.  How  sooth 
ing  the  consolations  of  a  discerning  wife.  I  was  feel 
ing  bad  and  she  knew  it.  My  cogitations  over  the 
election  news  were  by  no  means  jubilant.  Silent  and 
sad,  with  the  newspaper  open  on  my  knee,  I  had 
been  looking  dreamily  at  the  flickering  flames  for 
about  ten  minutes  while  Mrs.  Arp  sat  near  me  sew 
ing  a  patch  on  a  pair  of  little  breeches,  when  sudden 
ly  she  inquired : 

6 '  What  did  you  expect  Mr.  Cleveland  to  do  for 
you?" 

"Nothing,"  said  I,  "nothing  at  all;  but  then  you 
see,  my  dear,  its  highly  important  that  a  Democrat 
should  be  at  the  head  of  the  nation." 

She  never  looked  up  nor  for  a  moment  stopped  the 
graceful  jerk  of  her  needle  and  thread  as  she  again 
inquired : 

"And  what  would  a  Democratic  President  do  for 
you?" 

"Well,  nothing— nothing  at  all,"  said  I;  "but  then 
you  see  I  feel  interested  in  the  success  of  our  party 
and  the  promulgation  of  the  great  general  principles 
of  the  Democracy.  They  are  the  hope  of  the  country 
-the-the-" 

"Please  tell  me  something  about  those  great  prin 
ciples,"  said  she;  "what  are  they!" 

"Why,  my  dear,  the  great  principles  of  our  party 
are— they— are— the— why  they  are  as  old  as  the 


BILL    ARP.  235 

government.  They  underlie  the  foundation  of  Dem 
ocratic  institutions— they'  '— 

"But  what  are  they?"  said  she. 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,"  said  I,  "when  Thomas 
Jefferson  was  President  he  disseminated  and  set 
forth  those  principles  in  a  series  of  state  papers 
that  have  established  in  the  mind  of  American 
patriots  a  reverence  for  democratic  government 
that"— 

"But  what  are  the  principles!"  said  she. 

"Well,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  the  democratic  insti 
tutions  of  our  country  have  contributed  more  to  the 
preservation  of  life,  liberty  and  happiness  than  all 
other  causes  combined;  indeed  the  benefits  that  its 
adherents  partake  of  are— they  are"— 

"Justification,  adoption,  and  sanctification, "  said 
she. 

"No,  not  exactly;  not  to  that  pious  extent,"  said 
I.  "An  enumeration  of  all  those  great  principles 
would  require  more  time  than— than— " 

"Well,  never  mind,  William,  never  mind,"  said 
she  affectionately;  "I  don't  want  to  take  up  your 
valuable  time,  but  I've  been  suspecting,  for  a  long 
time,  that  those  principles  were  to  get  in  office  and 
draw  big  salaries,  and  live  high  without  work,  and  I 
reckon  one  party  can  do  that  about  as  well  as  an 
other;  don't  you?" 

"Well,  yes,  my  dear;  there  is,  I  confess,  some 
foundation  for  your  suspicions;  but  then,  you  see, 
we  are  trying  to  nationalize  the  American  people 
through  a  national  party,  and  become  once  more  in 
fraternal  union,  and—" 

"Well,  you  can't  do  that,  William,"  said  she. 
"They  never  did  like  us  and  we  never  did  like  them. 
We  needn't  have  any  more  war,  but  we  can  be  stately 


236  BILL    ARP. 

and  distant  like  we  have  to  be  with  nabors  that  are 
not  congenial.  If  I  was  you  I'd  let  national  politics, 
as  you  call  it,  alone,  for  it's  a  jack  o 'lantern  busi 
ness  and  will  never  profit  you.  Look  after  your 
farm  and  your  home  affairs.  You  had  better  go 
out  now  and  water  the  flowers  in  the  pit,  and  see 
where  Carl  and  Jessie  are.  The  meal  is  nearly  out, 
and  you  had  better  shell  a  turn  of  corn  this  evening, 
and  while  you  are  down  there  see  if  the  old  blue  hen 
has  hatched.  Her  time  is  about  up.  Stir  around 
awhile  and  don't  be  looking  so  far  away." 

Blessed  woman !  I  did  stir  'round,  and  it  made  me 
feel  better.  I  shall  take  no  more  interest  in  national 
politics  until— well,  until  the  next  election.  Consola 
tion  is  a  good  thing.  I  'm  going  to  be  reconciled  any 
way  and  not  give  up  the  ship.  Beckon  I  can  stay  at 
home  and  make  corn  and  cotton,  and  frolic  with  the 
children,  and  ruminate  on  the  uncertainties  of  life 
and  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  the  family  queen. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  hankering  after  an  office," 
said  she,  '  '  and  that  would  take  you  away  from  home 
and  leave  me  and  the  children  alone.  Office  is  a  poor 
thing;  when  a  man  gets  one,  everybody  is  envious 
of  him,  and  he  has  to  give  about  half  his  salary  to 
keep  his  popularity.  We've  got  a  good  home,  and 
we  are  getting  along  in  years,  and  I  think  we  had 
better  stay  here,  and  be  as  happy  as  we  can.  Don't 
you,  John  Anderson,  my  Joe!"  and  she  placed  her 
little  soft  hand  so  gently  and  lovingly  on  my  frosty 
brow,  my  reverend  head,  that  I  havent  thought 
about  office  since.  I'm  going  to  camp  right  here. 
Dr.  Talmage  has  been  preaching  a  sermon  lately  on 
married  folks,  and  he  says  it's  the  way  the  women 
do  that  drives  their  husband  off  at  night  to  the  club 


BILL    AKP.  237 

house,  and  the  stores,  and  the  loafing  places  about 
town;  says  they  don't  sweeten  up  on  'em  like  they 
did  before  they  was  married— don't  come  to  the 
door  to  meet  'em— don't  play  the  piano,  but  sorter 
give  up,  and  are  always  complaining  about  some 
thing,  or  scolding  the  children  or  the  servants. 
Well,  maybe  that's  so  to  some  extent,  but  my  obser 
vation  is  that  most  of  them  fellers  went  to  the  club 
houses  and  loafed  around  before  they  were  married. 
I  've  knowed  men  to  quit  home  and  go  up  town  every 
night  because  they  said  they  was  in  the  way  while 
the  children  were  being  washed  and  put  to  bed.  My 
wife,  Mrs.  Arp,  taught  me  a  long  time  ago  that  a 
man  could  perform  those  little  offices  about  as  well 
as  a  woman,  and  if  they  are  his  children  he  ought 
to  be  willing  to  do  it.  There  the  poor  woman  sits 
and  sews  and  nurses  the  little  chaps  all  the  day  long, 
tying  up  the  cut  fingers  and  stumped  toes,  and  doc 
toring  the  little  tooth-ache,  and  leg-ache,  and  stom 
ach-ache,  and  fixin'  'em  something  to  eat,  and  help 
ing  'em  in  a  thousand  little  ways— while  the  lord  of 
the  house  is  chatting  with  his  customers  or  sitting 
in  his  office  with  his  feet  upon  a  table  or  against  the 
mantel-piece,  and  another  feller  just  like  him  is 
doing  the  same  thing,  and  they  talk,  and  swap  lies, 
and  laugh,  and  carry  on,  and  it's  "ha,  ha,  ha,"  and 
"he,  he,  he,"  and  "ho,  ho,  ho;"  and  about  dark  he 
stretches  and  yawns  and  says,  "Well,  I  must  go 
home;  it's  about  my  supper  time;"  and  brother 
Talmage  wants  his  poor  wife  to  be  a  watching  at  the 
window,  and  when  she  sees  him  coming  she  must 
run  out  and  meet  him  'twixt  the  house  and  the  gate, 
and  kiss  him  on  his  old  smoky  lips  and  say,  "Oh, 
my  dear,  my  darling,  I'm  so  glad  you  have  come." 
Well,  that's  all  right,  I  reckon,  if  a  woman  ain't  got 


238  BILL    ARP. 

nothing  else  to  think  about  but  fitting  herself  for 
heaven,  but  to  niy  opinion  a  man  ought  to  go  home 
a  little  sooner  than  he  does,  and  take  a  little  more 
interest  in  things  when  he  gets  there. 

Women  are  a  heap  better  than  men  if  they  have 
half  a  chance.  They  were  created  better.  They  be 
gin  the  world  better  in  their  infancy.  Little  girls 
don't  go  round  throwing  rocks  at  birds  and  shoot 
ing  slingshots  at  the  chickens  and  running  the  calves 
all  over  the  lot  and  setting  the  dogs  on  the  barn  cats 
and  breaking  up  pigeons'  nests  and  all  that.  Never 
saw  a  boy  that  didn't  want  to  shoot  a  gun  and  kill 
something.  It's  a  wonder  to  me  that  these  kind, 
tenderhearted  girls  will  have  anything  to  do  with 
'em,  but  it  seems  like  they  will,  and  I  reckon  it's  all 
right,  but  if  I  was  a  young  marryin'  woman  I  would 
be  mighty  particular  about  mating  with  a  feller 
round  town  who  belonged  to  half  a  dozen  societies 
of  one  sort  or  another  and  was  out  every  night.  If 
I  wanted  a  man  all  to  myself  I  would  look  out  for 
some  farmer  boy  who  would  take  me  to  the  country 
where  there  ain't  no  clubs  or  Masonic  lodge  or  Odd 
Fellows  or  Knights  of  Honor  or  Pythias  or  Scylla 
or  Charybdis,  or  fire  companies,  or  brass  bands,  or 
mardi  grass,  or  pate  defoi  gras.  I'd  force  him  to 
love  me  whether  he  wanted  to  or  not,  for  there 
wouldn't  be  anything  to  distract  his  attention.  But 
then,  if  a  girl  wants  to  fly  round  and  be  everybody's 
gal,  and  have  all  sorts  of  a  time,  why  then  she'd 
better  marry  in  town.  It's  all  a  question  of  having 
one  good  man  to  love  you,  or  a  dozen  silly  ones  to 
admire.  But  as  I  ain't  a  woman,  I  suppose  it's  none 
of  my  business. 


BILL   AEP.  239 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


THE  OLD  SCHOOL  DAYS. 

It  was  about  the  close  of  a  bright  and  happy  day. 
We  were  all  sitting  in  the  broad  piazza  and  Mrs. 
Arp  had  laid  aside  her  spectacles  and  was  talking 
about  the  old  Hog  mountain  that  she  had  been  read 
ing  about  in  Joel  Harris's  pretty  story,  "At  Teague 
Poteets."  "Why,"  said  she,  "that  Hog  mountain 
is  in  old  Gwinnett,  away  up  north  towards  Gaines 
ville,  and  I  went  to  school  there  when  I  was  a  child. 
Old  Aunty  Bird  taught  us,  and  she  was  a  sweet  old- 
soul.  I  know  she  is  in  heaven  if  anybody  is.  I  won 
der  if  it  is  the  same  Hog  mountain— but  I  don't  re 
member  any  of  the  Poteets." 

Good,  honest,  clever  Tom  Gordon,  who  lives  a  few 
miles  above  us,  passed  along  as  we  were  talking, 
and  Mrs.  Arp's  memories  took  a  fresh  start  as  she 
remarked:  "He  was  a  good  boy,  Tom  was.  I  went 
to  school  with  him  to  Mr.  Spencer,  and  I  know  his 
speech  right  now,"  and  she  arose  forward,  and 
assuming  an  anxious,  excited  countenance,  she  said 
as  she  stretched  forth  her  hand,  "Is  the  gentleman 
done?  Is  he  completely  done?"  Mrs.  Arp  is 
mighty  good  on  a  speech,  and  her  memory  is  won 
derful,  and  so  to  toll  her  along  I  said,  "and  Char 
ley  Alden,  what  was  his  speech!"  and  without  a 
moment's  hesitation  she  took  a  new  position  and 


240  BILL   AKP. 

made  one  of  those  short  neck  bows  and  cleared  her 
throat,  and  repeated  with  slow  and  solemn  voice, 

"  'On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow, 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser  rolling  rapidly.7  " 

Then  she  put  her  other  little  foot  forward,  and 
brightened  up  as  she  continued : 

"  'But  Linden  saw  another  sight,'  " 

And  when  she  got  down  to  the  thick  of  the  fight  it 
was  thrilling  to  hear  her  and  to  see  her  heroic  atti 
tude  as  she  screamed: 

"  'Wave,  Munich — all  thy  banners  wave, 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry.'  " 

And  she  waved  an  imaginary  flag  all  around  her 
classic  head. 

We  all  cheered  and  clapped  our  hands,  for  the 
girls  had  never  seen  their  mother  in  that  role  before. 

"And  poor  Thad  Lowe,"  said  I,  "what  was  his 
speech?" 

"So  from  the  region  of  the  north,"  said  she. 

"And  Eennely  Butler,"  said  I. 

"At  midnight  in  his  guarded  tent,"  and  she  gave 
us  a  whole  verse  of  Marco  Bozzaris.  She  likes  that, 
and  we  begged  her  to  go  on,  and  she  went  through 
that  fighting  verse  where  the  Greeks  came  down  like 
an  avalanche,  and  her  martial  patriotism  was  all 
aglow  as  she  said: 

11  Strike  for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires, 
Strike  for  your  altars  and  your  fires, 
God  and  your  native  land." 


BILL   ABP.  241 

Goodness  gracious,  what  a  soldies  she  would  have 
made. 

It  was  my  turn  now,  and  so  I  put  in  on  Jim  Alex 
ander  's  speech  at  my  school. 


"Make  way  for  liberty,  he  cried. 
Make  way  for  liberty  and  died. 


Jim  was  always  a  cruising  around  for  liberty,  and 
the  speech  suited  him  mighty  well.  But  Tom,  his 
brother,  had  a  liking  for  the  law  and  spoke  from 
Daniel  Webster,  "  Gentlemen,  this  is  a  most  extra 
ordinary  case."  And  there  was  Gib  Wright,  the 
biggest  boy  in  school,  who  carried  his  head  on  one 
side  like  he  was  fixing  to  be  hung,  and  he  came  out 
on  the  floor  with  a  flourish  and  made  big  demonstra 
tions,  fixing  his  No.  13  feet,  and  you  would  have 
thought  he  was  going  to  speak  something  from  De 
mosthenes  or  Aj  ax  or  Hercules  or  the  rock  of  Gib 
raltar,  when  suddenly  he  stretched  forth  his  big 
long  arm  and  said: 

"How  doth  the  little  busy  bee 
Improve  each  shining  hour. ' ' 

We  never  thought  he  would  get  to  be  a  big  lawyer 
and  a  judge,  but  he  did. 

And  General  Wofford  was  there  too,  and  his 
speech  was  the  speech  of  an  Indian  chief  to  the  pale 
faces,  and  most  every  sentence  began  with  "  broth 
ers,"  and  he  whipped  a  big  sassy  Spaniard  by  the 
name  of  Del  Gardo  for  imposing  on  us  little  boys, 
and  then  went  off  to  fight  the  Mexicans  for  impos 
ing  on  Uncle  Sam,  and  ever  since  he  has  been  fight 
ing  somebody  for  imposing  on  somebody,  and  I 
think  he  had  rather  do  it  than  not. 

(16) 


242  BILL    AKP. 

And  there  was  Jim  Dunlap  who  used  to  spread 
himself  and  swell  as  he  recited  from  Patrick  Hen 
ry's  great  speech:  "They  tell  us,  sir,  that  we  are 
weak,  but  when  shall  we  be  stronger  ?  Will  it  be  the 
next  week  or  the  next  year?"  and  he  just  pawed 
around  and  shook  the  floor  as  he  exclaimed,  "Give 
me  liberty,  or  give  me  death  I"  Jim  dident  carry 
as  much  weight  before  him  as  he  carries  now,  but 
he  was  a  whale,  and  had  a  voice  like  a  bass  drum 
with  a  bull  frog  in  it.  Jim  was  called  on  during  the 
late  war  to  choose  betwixt  liberty  or  death,  and  he 
sorter  split  the  difference  and  took  neither,  but  he 
pulled  through  all  right. 

After  this  effort,  which  sorter  exhausted  me,  Mrs. 
Arp  recalled  Melville  Young's  speech  about  "King 
Henry  of  Navarre,"  and  Charley  Norton's  speech 
to  the  eagle,  "Great  bird  of  the  wilderness,  lonely 
and  proud,"  and  Charley  Kowland's  solemn  dirge 
to  Sir  John  Moore,  "Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a 
funeral  note, ' '  and  then  I  was  called  on  for  my  own 
speech,  and  I  had  to  stand  up  and  advance  forward 
and  make  a  bow  and  say:  "My  name  is  Norval— 
on  the  Grampian  hills  my  father  fed  his  flocks." 

I  remember  it  took  my  teacher  two  weeks  to  keep 
me  from  saying  "my  name  is  Norval  on  the  Gram 
pian  hills, ' '  and  he  asked  me  what  was  my  name  off 
the  Grampian  hills ;  and  finally  I  got  the  idea  that  I 
must  put  on  the  brakes  after  I  said  Norval  and  then 
make  a  new  start  for  the  hills. 

Mrs.  Arp  then  branched  off  on  the  composition 
and  recitations  of  the  girls,  and  recited  sweet  little 
Mary  Maltbie's  piece  on  the  maniac:  "Stay,  jailer, 
stay  and  hear  my  woe,"  and  Sallie  Johnson's  com 
position  on  "Hope." 


BILL    AEP.  243 

"Hope!  If  it  was  not  for  hope  man  would  die. 
Hope  is  a  good  invention.  If  it  was  not  for  hope, 
woman  would  mighty  nigh  give  up  a  ship." 

And  that  reminded  me  of  Mack  Montgomery's 
prize  essay  on  money. 

"Money!  Money  is  a  good  invention.  The  world 
couldn't  get  along  much  without  money.  But  folks 
oughten  to  love  money  too  good.  They  oughten  to 
hanker  after  other  folks  money,  for  if  they  do  it's 
mighty  apt  to  make  'em  steal  and  rob.  One  day 
there  was  a  lonesome  traveler  going  along  a  lone 
some  road  in  the  woods  all  solitary  and  alone  by 
himself,  without  nobody  at  all  with  him,  when  sud 
denly  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eyeball  out  sprang  a 
robber  and  shotten  him  down,  and  it  was  all  for 
money. ' ' 

Mrs.  Arp's  thoughts  seemed  away  off  somewhere 
as  she  tenderly  repeated: 

"When  I  am  dead  no  pageant  train 
Shall  waste  their  sorrows  at  my  bier. ' ' 

'  *  That  was  my  dear  brother 's  speech, ' '  said  she 
"and  it  all  came  true.  He  was  killed  at  Chickamauga. 
The  cruel  bullet  went  in  his  brain  and  he  fell  with 
his  face  to  the  foe  and  there  was  no  pageant  train; 
no  kindred ;  no  sorrows  wasted ;  no  time  for  sorrow ; 
no  loving  hand ;  no  burial  for  a  long  time.  Oh,  it  is 
so  sad,  even  now,  to  think  about  the  poor,  dear  boy. 
He  was  good  to  us  and  we  loved  him." 

Our  school-mates  are  few  and  far  between  now. 
Death  has  carried  most  of  them  away  and  those  who 
are  left  are  widely  scattered.  How  the  roads  of  life 
do  fork— and  some  take  one  and  some  another.  We 
are  all  like  pickets  skirmishing  around,  and  one  by 
one  get  picked  off  ourselves  by  the  common  foe. 


244  BILL   AKP. 

I  had  liked  to  have  got  picked  off  myself  a  day  or 
two  ago.  The  wagon  had  come  from  town  with  a 
few  comforts,  and  one  was  a  barrel  of  flour.  Mrs. 
Arp  and  the  children  always  come  to  the  south 
porch  when  the  wagon  comes,  for  they  want  to  see 
it  unloaded  and  feel  good  for  a  little  while,  and  so 
when  the  hind  gate  was  taken  off  and  Mrs.  Arp  had 
wondered  how  we  would  get  out  the  flour,  I  thought 
I  would  show  her  what  a  man  could  do.  I  rolled  the 
barrel  to  me  as  I  stood  on  the  ground  and  gently 
eased  it  down  on  my  knees.  My  opinion  now  is 
that  there  is  a  keg  of  lead  in  that  barrel,  for  my 
knees  gave  way  and  I  was  falling  backwards,  and 
to  keep  the  barrel  from  mashing  me  into  a  pancake 
or  something  else,  I  gave  it  a  heave  forward  and  let 
her  go,  and  it  gave  me  a  heave  backward  and  let 
me  go,  and  I  fell  on  a  pile  of  rocks  that  were  laid 
around  a  cherry  tree,  and  they  were  rough  and 
ragged  and  sharp,  and  tore  my  left  arm  all  to  pieces 
and  raked  it  to  the  bone.  The  blood  streamed 
through  my  shirt  sleeve  and  I  was  about  to  faint, 
for  blood  always  make  me  faint,  when  Mrs.  Arp 
screamed  for  camphor,  and  the  girls  ran  for  it,  and 
before  I  could  stop  'em  they  had  campfire  and  tur 
pentine  fire  poured  all  over  my  arm,  and  I  went  a 
dancing  around  like  I  was  in  a  yaller  jacket's  nest. 
It  liked  to  have  killed  me,  shore  enuf,  but  after 
while  I  rallied  and  went  to  bed.  I  havent  used  that 
arm  nor  a  finger  on  that  hand  till  now,  and  go  about 
sad  and  droopy.  But  I  have  had  a  power  of  sym 
pathy,  and  Mrs.  Arp  is  good— mighty  good.  I'm 
most  willing  to  tear  up  a  leg  or  two  by  and  by,  for 
they  are  all  so  good.  And  now  I'm  in  a  fix— for  I 
can't  shave  but  one  side  of  my  face  and  company  is 
coming  tomorrow. 


BILL    ABP.  245 

Well,  I  used  to  could  let  down  a  barrel  of  flour— I 
used  to  could— but  rolling  years  will  change  a  man 
—anno  domini  will  tell.  I  reckon  by  the  time  I  get 
my  neck  broke  I  will  begin  to  realize  that  I'm  not 
the  man  I  used  to  be,  but  as  Cobe  says,  "if  I  could 
call  back  20  years  I'd  show  'em."  The  next  time 
a  barrel  of  flour  comes  to  my  house  I  will  get  two 
skids  twenty-five  feet  long  and  let  it  roll  out,  see  if 
I  don't.  But  it's  all  right,  and  I've  had  a  power  of 
sympathy,  and  sympathy  is  a  good  thing.  I  would 
almost  die  for  sympathy.  I  shall  get  well  slowly- 
very  slowly.  But  Mrs.  Arp  asked  me  this  morning 
if  I  could  pick  the  raspberries  for  dinner  with  one 
hand— said  she  could  swing  a  little  basket  round  my 
neck.  What  a  thoughtful,  ingenious  women. 

The  older  we  grow  the  oftener  do  we  reverse  the 
telescope  and  look  back.  How  distant  seem  the 
scenes  of  our  youth.  If  I  did  not  know  better  I 
would  say  it  has  been  a  hundred  years  since  I  was 
a  little  boy  trudging  along  to  the  first  school  I  ever 
attended.  The  old  school  days  are  a  notable  part  of 
everyone's  life.  My  wife  and  I  frequently  indulge 
in  these  memories,  for  we  went  to  school  together, 
though  I  was  six  years  her  senior.  We  tell  over  to 
the  children  all  the  funny  things  that  happened,  and 
discuss  the  frailties  and  the  virtues  of  our  school 
mates  and  magnify  the  teachers,  and  she  tells  them 
as  how  I  was  a  smart  boy  and  stood  head  in  the. 
spelling  class  for  a  month  at  a  time,  and  she  re 
members  the  speeches  I  spoke,  and  with  a  pretended 
regret  she  says :  ' '  Children,  your  father  was  a  very 
handsome  boy,  with  black,  glossy  hair,  and  he  had 
plenty  of  it  then.  The  girls  used  to  cast  sheep's  eyes 
at  him  then,  but  I  didn  't,  for  I  wa^  too  young  to  be  a 


246  BILL    AKP. 

sweetheart  then,  but  he  had  them.  Yes,  he  was 
smart  and  good-looking  too,  and  he  knew  it.  Yes, 
he  knew  it.  He  had  a  fight  once  at  school  about  his 
sweetheart.  Her  name  was  Penelope  McAlpin,  and 
another  boy  called  her  Penny-lope,  just  to  tease 
your  pa,  and  he  hit  him  right  straight  and  they 
fought  like  wild  cats  for  awhile.  When  he  was  a 
young  man  and  I  was  in  my  teens,  he  was  the  dres 
siest  youth  in  the  town  and  wore  the  tightest  boots. 
Oh,  my !  I  had  no  idea  he  would  ever  notice  me,  and 
I  don't  know  yet  what  made  him  do  it." 

Well,  you  see,  the  like  of  that  called  for  a  re 
sponse,  and  so  I  had  to  put  in  and  tell  what  a  beau 
tiful,  hazel-eyed  creole  she  was— what  long  raven 
hair  that  fell  over  her  shoulders  in  waving  tresses, 
and  what  beautiful  hands  and  feet,  and  how  fawn- 
like  she  locomoted  about  and  about,  and  how  shy 
and  startled  she  was  when  I  began  to  address  her, 
and  what  juicy  lips  that  seemed  pouting  for  a  lover, 
and  then  her  teeth— her  pearly  teeth— that  were 
almost  as  pretty  as  those  she  has  now.  I  told  them 
how  hard  it  was  to  win  her  until  she  found  out  I  was 
in  earnest,  and  then  how  suddenly  she  surrendered 
with  tumultuous  affection,  and  I  recited  with  tender 
pathos  those  beautiful  lines  of  Coleridge: 

"She  wept  with  pity  and  delight, 

She  blushed  with  love  and  virgin  shame, 
And  like  the  murmur  of  a  dream 
I  heard  her  breathe  my  name. 

She  half  enclosed  me  in  her  arms, 
She  pressed  me  with  a  meek  embrace, 

And  bending  back  her  head  looked  up 
And  gazed  upon  my  face. " 

Just  then  Mrs.  Arp  stopped  sewing  and  gazed  at 
me  sure  enough,  as  she  said:  "Was  there  ever  such 


BILL   ABP.  247 

a  story-teller?  Why,  you  know  I  didn't  do  any  such 
thing.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. " 

"I  was  just  telling  how  Genevieve  did,"  said  I, 
"and  how  Coleridge  won  his  l bright  and  beauteous 
bride. '  She  had  hazel  eyes,  too. ' ' 

Young  man,  you  had  better  not  try  to  flirt  with  a 
pair  of  hazel  eyes.  It  is  a  waste  of  time  and  danger 
ous.  They  are  less  susceptible  than  the  blue,  and 
when  once  deceived  do  not  pine  away  in  grief,  but 
rally  for  revenge  and  take  it  out  in  scorn.  If  you 
tackle  them  you  had  better  go  in  to  win  or  leave  the 
country.  And  while  I  think  of  it,  I'll  make  another 
remark :  When  you  woo  and  win  and  wed,  you  had 
better  keep  on  wooing  and  winning  afterwards  or 
leave  the  country.  It  takes  a  power  of  love  to  do 
them. 

We  little  chaps  used  to  go  to  school  to  female 
teachers— to  Yankee  school  marms,  who  were  well 
educated  and  smart.  But  they  never  taught  school 
very  long,  for  our  widowers  married  them  about  as 
fast  as  they  came.  You  see,  our  high-strung  blood 
ed  girls  wouldn't  marry  widowers,  for  they  could 
always  get  young  men  to  their  liking,  but  a  well-to- 
do  widower  had  a  fancy  for  a  settled  woman,  who 
was  raised  to  economy,  and  would  be  so  grateful 
for  having  bettered  her  condition  in  life.  Of  course 
they  did  not  all  marry  widowers,  but  they  married, 
and  they  made  good  wives  and  good  mothers,  and 
their  descendants  are  all  over  the  sunny  land,  and 
have  proved  a  splendid  cross  from  Southern  blood 
and  Northern  energy. 

The  first  teacher  I  ever  went  to  was  a  Yankee 
woman,  and  she  had  a  dunce  block  set  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  for  the  lazy  scholars  to  sit  on. 


248  BILL   ABP. 

The  mischievous  ones  were  made  to  stand  on  the 
tahle  or  in  the  corner  with  face  to  the  wall.  She 
never  whipped  us,  and  was  a  kind  motherly  woman. 
Jim  Wardlaw  "fit"  her  once  and  she  laid  him  on 
her  lap  and  tried  to  spank  him,  but  he  bit  her  on  the 
knee  and  she  screamed  "mercy"  and  let  him  go. 

The  other  day  I  chanced  to  be  one  of  a  party  of 
assorted  gentlemen  and  they  took  it  by  turns  tell 
ing  of  their  schoolboy  frolics  and  adventures.  One 
said,  "while  I  was  going  to  school  to  old  Greer  I 
picked  a  lot  of  wet  mud  off  my  shoe  heels  and  made 
it  into  a  ball  and  thought  I  would  toss  it  over  and 
hit  Ed.  Omberg,  who  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the 
school  room.  Old  Greer  was  on  that  side,  too,  and 
right  between  me  and  Ed.,  but  I  thought  I  could  flip 
it  over  his  head  while  he  was  leaning  over  his  desk 
setting  copies,  but  somehow  dident  flip  it  hard 
enough  and  it  came  down  on  old  Greer 's  head  ker 
flop  and  flattened  out  like  a  pancake.  I  never  saw  a 
man  more  astonished  in  my  life,  and  I  was  scared 
mighty  nigh  to  death.  I  ducked  down  to  my  book 
and  dident  dare  to  look  up.  My  ducking  down  was 
what  caught  me,  for  the  other  boys  were  looking  up 
in  wonder,  and  they  would  look  at  old  Greer  and 
then  look  at  me,  and  a  pointer  dog  couldn't  have 
spotted  a  bird  any  better.  'Come  here,'  said  he. 
'Come  here;  come  here;  come  right  along  here;" 
and  he  met  me  half  way  and  gave  me  about  twenty- 
five  that  lasted  and  lingered  for  a  whole  week. 

"Jim  Jones  was  a  stuttering  boy,  and  chock  full 
of  mischief.  Early  one  morning  he  fastened  the  his 
toric  pin  in  old  Greer 's  split-bottom  chair,  and  when 
he  came  in  and  called  the  roll  and  then  took  a  seat 
in  his  accustomed  seat,  he  didn't  stay  there  long,  but 
rose  up  with  great  alacrity.  His  eyes  flashed  fire  as 


BILL    ARP.  249 

he  gazed  around  the  room,  and  he  caught  Jim  in  the 
same  way  he  caught  me,  and  seizing  a  long,  keen, 
supple  hickory  said:  'Come  up  here,  sir,  you  vil 
lainous  scamp.  I'll  show  you— come  along,  sir.' 
Jim  approached  trembling  and  slow.  'Come  along, 
I  tell  you,  sir. '  Jim  stopped  and  stuttered  with  piti 
ful  accents:  '  Ger-ger-ger-gwine  to  wh-wh-wh-whip 
me?'  'Come  along,  I  tell  you,  or  I'll—'  'Ger-ger- 
fer-gwine  to  wh-wh-whip  me  hard.'  Old  Greer 
started  towards  him,  but  Jim  had  lost  confidence, 
and  wheeling  suddenly  made  tracks  for  the  door 
with  old  Greer  after  him.  Jim  bounced  over  two 
benches  to  get  there  first,  but  Greer  had  to  turn  a 
corner  around  the  benches,  and  in  doing  so  tripped 
and  fell  broadcast  and  rolled  over  besides,  and  we 
boys  just  cackled.  He  bounced  up  as  mad  as  Julius 
Caesar,  and  said  in  a  towering  passion:  'I'll  whip 
every  boy  that  laughs.  Now  laugh  again,  if  you 
dare.'  And  we  dident  dare." 

Well,  it  is  curious  that  most  every  devilish  boy  in 
every  school  is  named  Jim.  The  very  name  seems  to 
make  a  boy  devilish.  They  generally  make  notable 
men,  and  some  of  them  climb  very  high.  There  is 
James  Madison  and  James  Monroe  and  Polk  and 
Buchanan  and  Garfield.  And  Jimmy  Blaine  is 
cavorting  around  and  thinks  he  ought  to  be  presi 
dent  just  because  his  name  is  Jim.  If  there  is  any 
other  good  reason  I  don't  know  it.  And  I  went  to 
school  with  Jim  Wilson  and  Jim  Alexander  and 
Jim  Wardlaw  and  Jim  Linton  and  Jim  Walker  and 
they  were  a  sight.  There  is  another  thing  to  be 
noted  about  school  boys.  They  always  call  their 
teachers  "old."  They  called  Dr.  Patterson  "old 
Pat,"  and  Professor  McCoy  "old  Mack,"  and  Pro 
fessor  Waddell  "old  Pewt,"  and  there  was  old 


250  BILL   AKP. 

Nahum  and  old  Beeman,  and  old  Fouche  and  old 
Isham. 

We  were  talking  about  old  Isham,  and  one  of  our 
party  said:  "I  went  to  school  to  him,  and  some 
times  he  would  slip  up  on  a  boy  as  slyly  as  a  cat 
upon  a  rat,  and  catch  him  making  pictures  on  his 
slate.  He  would  hover  over  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then  pounce  down  upon  him  like  a  hawk  upon  a 
chicken,  and  catch  him  by  the  ears  and  shove  his 
face  down  on  the  slate  and  wipe  out  the  pictures 
with  his  nose.  One  day  Jim  Harris  was  up  at  the 
blackboard  blundering  along  and  making  all  sorts 
of  mistakes,  and  old  Isham  got  mad  and,  seizing 
him  under  the  arms,  lifted  him  up  bodily  and 
mopped  the  blackboard  with  him  and  rubbed  out  all 
his  figures,  and  set  him  down  again  and  sent  him  to 
his  seat." 

"I  went  to  school  to  old  George,"  said  another, 
' '  and  there  was  a  fire-place  at  one  end  of  the  long 
room,  and  when  it  was  cold  weather  the  small  fry 
were  allowed  to  sit  up  near  the  fire  and  the  big  boys 
had  to  do  the  best  they  could  at  the  other  end.  Tom 
Jackson  was  a  big,  strapping,  freckle-faced  boy, 
who  was  everlastingly  hungry.  One  morning  he 
brought  a  big,  long  sweet  potato  to  school  and  so  he 
pretended  to  be  very  cold  and  said  "Mr.  George, 
mayn't  I  go  up  to  the  fire  to  warm  I"  "Go  along, 
sir,"  said  George.  Tom  took  the  shovel  and  pre 
tended  to  be  punching  the  fire,  but  he  was  slying 
opening  a  hole  in  the  ashes  and  suddenly  dropped 
the  potato  in  and  covered  it  up.  Some  of  the  little 
boys  saw  him  and  whispered :  ' '  Gimme  some,  Tom ; 
when  its  done  gimme  some."  "Hush,"  said  Tom, 
"and  I  will."  In  about  half  an  hour  Tom  got  very 


BILL   AKP.  251 

cold  again  and  asked  to  go  up  and  warm.  "Go 
along,  sir,"  said  George,  "you  must  be  very  cold 
this  morning."  Tom  warmed  awhile  and  took  the 
shovel  and  pulled  out  the  potato  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket.  "Gimme  some,  Tom;  gimme  some,"  was 
whispered  all  around  as  he  marched  back  to  his  seat. 
"Gimme  some  or  I'll  tell." 

The  little  boys  began  to  snicker  and  point  at  Tom 
as  he  was  peeling  and  blowin'  his  "tater"  behind 
his  desk.  "What  are  you  boys  making  all  that  rack 
et  about!"  said  old  George,  as  he  approached  them 
with  his  hickory.  "We  was  laughing  at  Tom  Jack 
son  over  yonder  eatin'  his  ' tater.'  He  roasted  it 
here  in  the  fire  and  promised  to  give  us  some  if  we 
wouldn't  tell,  but  he  didn't."  "Aha,"  said  old 
George,  "come  up  here,  Tom  Jackson,  you  sly,  de 
ceitful  rascal.  That  is  what  you  were  so  cold  about. 
What  is  that  sticking  out  of  your  pocket!"  "A 
tater,  sir."  "Give  it  here,  sir.  I'll  have  you  know 
this  school  house  is  no  cook  kitchen.  You  are  so 
cold  I  think  a  little  warming  up  will  do  you  good, 
sir."  And  he  gave  him  about  a  dozen  over  his 
shoulders  and  lower  down,  and  then  divided  the 
tater  among  the  little  boys. 

These  school  boy  tales  would  fill  a  book,  and  I 
wish  that  "Philemon  Perch"  would  write  another. 


252  BILL    ABP. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


BOASTING  EAKS  AND  THE  MIDNIGHT  DANCE. 

I  once  heard  of  a  grumblin'  old  farmer  who  made 
a  big  crop  of  very  fine  corn,  and  on  being  congratu 
lated  about  it,  said: 

"Well,  yes;  my  corn  is  all  mighty  fine,  but  I  don't 
know  how  I'll  get  along  without  some  nubbins  to 
feed  the  steers  on." 

It's  a  raining  now  every  day,  but  it  came  a  little 
too  late,  and  we'll  all  have  plenty  of  steer  food  this 
year.  I  reckon  we  will  make  some  tolerable  corn  on 
the  bottoms,  and  the  late  planting  is  coming  out 
smartly.  If  misery  loves  company  we  can  take  com 
fort  like  the  darkey  did  that  Mr.  Stephens  told  about 
in  his  speech,  for  poor  crops  are  a  pretty  "general 
thing"  in  this  naborhood. 

But  maybe  it's  all  right— for  we  did  make  an  abun 
dance  of  wheat,  and  it  aint  too  late  to  make  a  right 
smart  cotton  and  git  15  cents  a  pound  for  it.  A  man 
ought  to  be  reconciled  to  what  he  cannot  help,  that  is 
unless  he  owes  a  little  passel  of  money  he  can't  pay 
and  is  reminded  of  it  once  a  month  on  a  postal  card. 
That's  bad,  aint  it?  Or  unless  he  has  got  a  lot  of 
sickly  no  account  children.  I  tell  Mrs.  Arp  we  ought 
to  be  mighty  thankful,  for  there 's  nary  one  of  the  ten 
that's  cross-eyed  or  knock-need  or  pigeon-toed  or 
box-ankled  or  sway-backed  or  hump-shouldered  or 
lame  or  blind  or  idiotic,  and  the  grandchildren  are 
an  improvement  upon  the  stock,  and  I  don't  believe 


BILL    AEP.  253 

any  of  'em  will  ever  git  to  the  poor-house  or  carry  a 
pistol  or  go  to  the  legislature  and  have  some  feller 
offer  'em  a  hundred  dollars  for  his  vote. 

A  sound,  healthy  body  is  a  great  blessing,  and  a 
fair  set-off  to  most  every  kind  of  bad  luck  that  can 
happen  to  a  man.  Mr.  Beecher  was  right  when  he 
said  the  first  rule  to  insure  good  health  was  to  select 
good,  healthy  parents  to  be  born  from.  My  rumina 
tions  on  this  subject  have  been  quite  luminous  of  late, 
for  I've  been  powerful  sick.  The  fact  is,  I  like  to 
have  died  the  other  night,  and  all  of  a  sudden.  You 
see  I  had  overworked  myself  a  fixing  up  a  turnip 
patch,  and  got  wet  besides,  and  didn't  stop  for  din 
ner,  and  was  sorter  hungry  and  bilious  to  start  on 
and  we  had  roasten  ears  for  supper  and  buttermilk 
and  honey,  and  takin'  it  all  together  I  took  the  green 
corn  dance  about  midnight  and  the  small  of  my  back 
caved  in,  and  from  then  until  daybreak  I  never  sot 
up,  nor  lay  down,  nor  stood  still  a  minute.  Doubled 
up  and  twisted  and  jerked  around  with  excruciatin' 
pains,  I  cavorted  all  over  one  side  of  the  house,  for 
we  had  some  Atlanta  company  on  the  other,  and  my 
groanings  were  worse  than  a  foundered  mule.  It  was 
just  awful  to  behold  and  awfuller  to  experience. 
Spirits  of  turpentine,  camphire,  hot  water,  mustard 
plaster,  mush  poultice,  paregoric,  Jamaica  ginger 
were  all  used  externally  and  internally,  but  no  relief. 
I  trotted  around  and  paced  and  fox-trotted  and 
hugged  the  bed-post  and  laid  down  and  rolled  over 
on  the  floor  like  a  hundred  dollar  horse,  and  my  wife, 
Mrs.  Arp,  she  trotted  around  too,  and  dosed  me  with 
this  thing  and  that  thing  and  had  the  stove  fired  up 
and  hollered  for  hot  water  forty  times  before  she 
got  it. 


254  BILL   AEP. 

"I  told  you  not  to  work  so  hard  in  the  hot  sun/' 
said  she.  "Oh,  Lordy,"  said  I. 

"I  asked  you  to  change  your  clothes  as  soon  as 
you  came  to  the  house  and  you  didn't  do  it."  "Oh, 
my  country,"  said  I. 

"Don't  wake  up  the  company,"  she  continued. 
"And  you  would  eat  them  roasten  ears  for  supper— 
did  ever  anybody  hear  of  a  man  eating  roasten  ears 
for  supper  and  then  wash  'em  down  with  buttermilk 
and  honey."  "Oh,  my  poor  back,"  said  I. 

"Do  you  reckon  it's  your  back— aint  it  further 
round  in  front  ? "  "  Oh,  no, ' '  said  I ,  "  it 's  every 
where,  it's  lumbago,  it's  siatiker,  it's  Bright 's  dis 
ease,  its  Etna  and  Vesuvious  all  mixed  up.  Oh,  I'm 
so  sick— can't  nobody  do  nothin'." 

"Poor  fellow,  poor  William,  I'm  so  sorry  for 
you,  but  you  will  wake  up  the  company  if  you  don't 
mind— I'm  doing  everything  I  can.  You've  taken 
enough  things  now  to  kill  you.  I  declare  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  next,  and  all  this  comes  from  mov 
ing  to  the  country  five  miles  from  a  drug  store  or  a 
doctor.  I  told  you  how  it  would  be— plumbago  and 
skyatiker  and  a  bright  disease,  and  the  Lord  knows 
what,  and  I  wouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  you  had 
the  yellow  fever  to  boot— caught  it  a  trampin' 
around  Memphis,  and  it's  just  broke  out  on  you. 
Poor  man,  if  he  does  die  what  will  become  of  us? 
But  if  he  gets  well  he'll  go  and  do  the  same  thing 
over  again.  Don't  grunt  so  loud.  I  declare  you 
make  enough  noise  to  wake  up  a  graveyard.  I  never 
saw  such  a  man.  Here,  try  this  mush  poultice.  I 
thought  that  water  never  would  get  hot.  Does  it 
burn  you  7" 

"Oh,  yes;  it  burns,  but  fire  is  nothing  now,  let  it 
burn.  Oh!  I'm  so  sick.  Bring  me  the  paregoric, 


BILL    AKP.  255 

or  the  laudanum,  or  something,  I  can't  stand  it  ten 
minutes  longer/'  said  I. 

"  There  aint  a  drop  left.  You've  taken  it  all. 
There's  nothing  left  but  chloroform,  and  I'm  so 
afraid  of  that,  but  maybe  it  will  relieve  you,  Wil 
liam.  My  poor  William,  how  I  do  hate  to  see  you 
suffer  so,  but  you  will  never  do  as  I  tell  you.  Do 
please  don't  wake  up  the  company!" 

Well,  I  took  the  chloroform  and  went  to  sleep— to 
the  happy  land— all-blessed  relief,  and  when  I 
waked  I  was  easier,  and  in  due  time  was  restored  to 
my  normal  condition.  In  my  gyrations  my  mind 
was  exceedingly  active.  I  ruimnated  over  my  past 
life,  and  could  find  a  little  comfort  in  what  Leigh 
Hunt  wrote  about  some  Arab  who  was  admitted  to 
heaven  because  he  loved  his  fellow-men,  that  is, 
except  some.  Just  so  I  have  loved  mine;  that  is, 
except  some.  I  thought  about  money  in  compari 
son  with  health  and  freedom  from  pain,  and  I  felt 
such  an  utter  disgust  for  riches,  it  made  me  sick  at 
the  stomach.  I  would  have  given  a  house  full  of 
gold  for  two  minutes'  cessation  of  those  internal 
hostilities. 

Well,  I  kept  this  numerous  and  interesting  family 
in  a  very  lively  state  for  a  few  long  hours,  and  it 
taught  me  a  useful  lesson.  I'm  going  to  take  care 
of  myself;  I  am  going  to  do  everything  Mrs.  Arp 
tells  me,  for  she  has  got  sense— she  has.  She  takes 
care  of  herself —not  a  gray  hair  in  her  head,  and  is 
as  bright  as  the  full  moon;  and  when  she  gives  an 
opinion  it  is  an  opinion.  From  that  horrible  night's 
experience  I  am  more  than  ever  satisfied  she  loves 
me  as  well  as  ever,  and  wouldn't  swap  me  off  for 
nobody.  When  I  stand  up  before  her  and  say 
"  Juror  look  upon  the  prisoner— prisoner  look  upon 


256  BILL   AEP. 

the  juror/'  she  always  says  " content."  And  then 
she  has  such  a  considerate  regard  for  her  "com 
pany.  ' ' 


BILL    ARP.  257 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


HOUSE. 

In  the  good  old  patriarchal  times  most  every  fam 
ily  of  wealth  kept  what  was  called  ' i  open  house ' 9  and 
all  who  came  were  welcome.  There  was  no  need  to 
send  word  you  were  coming,  for  food  and  shelter 
were  always  ready.  The  generous  host  met  his  guests 
at  the  gate  and  called  for  Dick  or  Jack  or  Caesar  to 
come  and  take  the  horses  in  the  barn— plenty  of  big 
fat  hams  and  leaf  lard  in  the  smoke  house— plenty 
of  chickens  and  ducks  and  turkeys  in  the  back  yard — 
plenty  of  preserves  in  the  pantry— plenty  of  trained 
servants  to  do  the  work  while  the  lady  of  the  house 
entertained  her  guests.  How  proud  were  these  fam 
ily  servants  to  show  off  before  their  visitors  and 
make  display  of  their  accomplishments  in  the  kitchen 
and  the  dining  room  and  the  chamber.  They  shared 
the  family  standing  in  the  community  and  had  but 
little  sympathy  for  the  "poor  white  trash "  of  the 
neighborhood. 

Some  of  us  try  to  keep  open  house  yet,  but  can't  do 
it  like  we  used  to.  The  servants  are  not  trained,  and 
they  come  and  go  at  their  pleasure.  Sometimes  the 
larder  gets  very  low  and  the  purse  looks  like  an  ele 
phant  had  trod  on  it.  But  still  we  do  the  best  we  can. 
We  "welcome  the  coming  and  we  speed  the  parting 
guest. ' ' 

During  the  last  summer  we  had  a  great  deal  of 
company  at  our  house  and  some  of  them  stayed  a 

(17) 


258  BILL   ARP. 

good  long  time,  for  most  of  them  were  from  a  lower 
latitude  and  imagined  that  the  yellow  fever  or  some 
dread  pestilence  was  about  to  invade  their  low  coun 
try  homes.  And  so  they  were  easily  persuaded  to 
protract  their  visit.  When  they  had  all  departed  I 
was  glad,  for  I  knew  that  Mrs.  Arp  was  tired— very 
tired.  I  was  glad  too  because  the  supplies  were  well 
nigh  exhausted  and  the  cook  had  given  notice  of  a 
change  of  base.  Our  recess  had  just  begun  when  I 
received  the  following  appalling  epistle : 

SAVANNAH,  GA., 
My  Dear  Cousin  William : 

It  is  about  time  that  we  were  paying  you  that  long- 
promised  visit  (The  way  he  came  to  be  our  cousin 
was  his  step-father's  aunt  married  my  wife's  great 
uncle  about  40  years  ago.)  It  is  awful  hot  weather 
down  here.  The  thermometer  is  away  up  to  an  100. 
It  makes  us  long  for  the  rest  and  shade  of  some 
quiet,  cool  retreat  in  the  mountains  of  North  Geor 
gia,  where  we  can  get  on  the  broad  piazza  of  a  coun 
try  home  and  enjoy  the  fresh  mountain  air  and  the 
cool  spring  water.  Our  children  are  all  at  home  now. 
Our  eldest  son  has  just  returned  from  college,  and 
our  eldest  daughter  is  now  spending  her  vacation, 
and  they  need  a  good  frolic  in  the  country— and  there 
are,  as  you  know,  just  six  others  of  all  ages  and  sizes, 
and  they  continually  talk  of  your  springs  and  your 
branches  and  the  fish  pond  that  you  write  about  so 
charmingly  in  your  Sunday  letters.  So  if  you  have 
room  for  us  we  will  all  be  up  in  a  few  days.  Our  sec 
ond  boy  has  a  favorite  dog  to  whom  he  is  much 
attached.  If  you  have  no  objections  we  will  bring 
the  dog.  He  is  well  behaved  and  will  give  you  no 
trouble.  The  third  boy  has  a  pair  of  fancy  goats 
that  are  trained  to  work  in  harness,  and  I  know  your 


BILL   ARP.  259 

children  will  like  to  frolic  with  them.  We  will  bring 
the  goats.  Our  nurse  will  come  with  us.  Now, 
don't  give  yourselves  any  anxiety  on  our  account, 
for  we  are  just  coming  to  have  a  free  and  easy  time 
and  enjoy  the  air  and  the  water.  We  will  bring  our 
fishing  tackle  along. 

YOUR  LOVING  COUSIN. 

It  was  with  great  hestitation  that  I  read  this  let 
ter  to  Mrs.  Arp,  but  she  was  equal  to  the  occasion, 
for  her  hospitality  never  surrenders.  "Well,  write 
to  them  to  come  along,"  she  said  with  a  sigh.  "I 
expect  their  children  are  tired  of  that  hot  city,  and 
would  be  happy  to  get  up  here  and  play  in  the 
branch.  Their  poor  mother,  has  had  a  time  of  it 
just  like  I  have— a  thousand  children  and  no 
negroes.  Born  rich  and  had  to  live  hard,  and  will 
die  poor  I  reckon.  But  write  to  them  to  come  along 
and  enjoy  the  air  and  the  water,  for  there  is  not 
much  else  here  now." 

" But  my  dear,"  said  I,  "there  isent  anything 
else,  and  I  don't  see  how  we  can  take  them.  The 
truth  is  I  am  plum  out  of  money  and  I  am  ashamed 
to  go  to  town  and  ask  for  any  more  credit.  Two 
months  ago  when  our  company  began  to  come  we  had 
three  or  four  hundred  chickens  running  around  the 
lot,  and  before  the  company  left  I  was  buying  twenty 
a  day.  It  is  just  awful,  and  we  can't  get  another 
cook  anywhere." 

"Well,  it  don't  matter,"  said  she,  "we  can't 
refuse  them— it  would  be  bad  manners.  Write  to 
them  to  come  along,  ,and  we  will  do  the  best  we  can. 
You  can  pick  up  something,  I  konw;  I  never  knew 
you  to  fail." 


60  BILL    AEP. 

So  under  conjugal  pressure  I  indited  the  follow 
ing  reply: 

My  dear  Cousin:  Your  letter  delighted  us 
beyond  expression.  Our  end  of  the  line  is  all  fixed 
up,  and  when  you  telegraph  us  that  you  are  coming 
we  will  meet  you  at  the  depot.  We  have  a  double 
buggy  and  a  farm  wagon,  and  if  they  will  not  hold 
all  and  the  baggage  and  livestock,  the  boys  and  the 
dog  and  the  goats  can  walk  out  and  peruse  the 
country.  It  is  only  five  miles,  so  come  along  and  be 
happy  and  enjoy  the  air  and  the  water.  There  is 
plenty  of  room  now,  for  we  shipped  the  last  of 
eighteen  visitors  yesterday.  They  have  run  us 
down  to  air  and  water,  but  there  is  still  an  abun 
dance  of  that  and  you  are  welcome  to  it.  We  don't 
care  anything  about  your  dog,  but  we  have  one  here 
that  I  am  afraid  will  eat  his  ears  off  in  two  minutes. 
Country  dogs  never  did  have  much  consideration 
for  a  town  dog.  The  only  trouble  is  about  feeding 
your  dog  with  palatable  food,  for  we  have  no  scraps 
left  from  our  table  now,  and  our  dog  has  got  to  eat 
ing  crawfish.  This  kind  of  food  makes  a  dog  hold 
on  when  he  bites. 

I  think  you  had  better  bring  the  goats,  for  we 
would  like  to  have  a  barbecue  while  you  are  here 
and  we  are  just  out  of  goats.  You  needent  bring 
your  fishing  tackle  as  we  have  plenty,  but  fish  are 
awful  scarce  in  our  creek  since  the  mill  pond  was 
drawn  off.  Couldent  you  bring  some  salt  water 
fish  as  a  rarity  to  our  children?  Huckleberries 
are  ripe  now  and  your  children  will  enjoy  picking 
them.  Ticks  and  red  bugs  are  ripe,  too,  and  your 
children  will  enjoy  picking  them  about  bed  time. 
Scratching  is  a  healthy  business  in  the  country  and 
is  the  poor  man's  medicine.  Town  folks  can  take 


BILL   ARP.  261 

Cuticura  and  Sarsaparilla  and  S.  S.  S.  and  B.  B.  B. 
but  a  poor  man  just  has  to  scratch— that's  all. 

I  wouldent  mention  it  to  my  wife,  but  it  has 
occured  to  me  that  as  you  are  about  to  break  up  for 
a  season  you  might  just  as  well  bring  your  cow 
along,  for  ours  are  about  played  out.  It  would  do 
your  cow  good  to  enjoy  the  air  and  water.  And 
this  reminds  me  that  my  wife  scraped  the  bottom 
of  the  sugar  barrel  yesterday.  It  does  take  a 
power  of  sweetening  for  these  country  berries.  A 
hundred  pounds  or  so  from  your  store  wouldent 
come  amiss.  I  suppose  your  nurse  wouldent  mind 
sleeping  in  the  potatoe  shed.  It  is  a  good  cool 
place  to  roost  at  night.  We  have  no  musketoes  but 
snakes  are  alarmingly  frequent  in  these  parts. 
Carl  killed  a  rattlesnake  in  the  garden  yesterday 
but  he  had  only  six  rattles  and  we  think  that  we 
can  soon  learn  your  children  to  dodge  them;  so 
come  along  and  enjoy  the  air  and  water.  It  is  well 
worth  a  visit  up  here  to  see  the  blue  mountains  and 
watch  the  young  cyclones  meander  around.  A 
cyclone  came  in  sight  of  us  last  spring  and  unroofed 
nabor  Munford's  house  and  killed  seven  mules  and 
three  negro  children  and  went  on.  It  is  a  grand 
and  inspiring  sight  to  see  a  cyclone  on  an  excursion. 
Our  crab  apples  are  ripe  now.  I  read  the  other 
day  a  very  sad  account  about  three  children  dying 
of  crab  apple  colic  in  one  family.  Our  cook  has 
given  us  notice  that  she  will  leave  next  Sunday  and 
my  wife  says  she  has  tried  all  over  the  naborhood 
to  secure  another  but  failed.  Maybe  you  had  bet 
ter  bring  up  a  cook  with  you,  but  if  you  can't  why 
then  we  will  all  try  and  get  along  on  the  air  and 
the  water.  I  can  cook  pretty  well  myself  on  an 


262  BILL    ABP. 

emergency,  but  don't  fancy  it  as  a  regular  job. 
But  the  greatest  trouble  now  is  that  we  have 
nothing  to  cook.  But  come  along  and  enjoy  the 
air  and  the  water.  Your  cousin, 

WILLIAM. 

Well,  he  dident  come.     The  next  time  I  saw  him 
he  said  he  was  just  joking,  and  I  told  him  I  was  too. 


BILL    AEP.  263 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


THE  OLD  TAVERN. 

Some  time  ago  my  business  called  me  to  an  old 
venerable  town  that  is  still  a  score  of  miles  from 
a  railroad,  and  consequently  has  not  made  much 
progress  in  its  business  or  its  architecture.  Forty 
years  had  passed  since  I  had  visited  the  place,  and 
there  was  but  little  change.  The  same  old  hotel 
was  there,  one  of  those  big,  old-fashioned  barns 
that  used  to  prevail  in  almost  every  town,  and  had 
a  swinging  signboard  that  creaked  and  swayed  with 
the  wind  and  said,  "Entertainment  for  Man  and 
Beast. "  They  use  to  have  a  plantation  bell  swung 
up  on  a  frame  close  by,  and  a  rope  attached  to  ring 
the  guests  to  fried  chicken  and  ham  and  eggs  and 
beat  biscuit  and  bacon  and  greens  and  sausage  and 
lye  hominy  and  cracklin'  bread.  The  judge  and 
the  bar  rode  the  circuit  then— not  in  railroads  nor 
one  at  a  time,  but  all  together  in  buggies  and  gigs 
and  sulkies.  It  was  quite  a  cavalade,  and  attracted 
wonder  and  awe  and  attention  like  a  traveling 
circus.  The  judge's  room  was  always  the  biggest 
and  best,  and  every  night  the  lawyers  would  gather 
there  and  talk  and  tell  anecdotes  and  exchange 
their  genial  wit  and  humor,  and  it  was  a  rare  treat 
to  a  young  man  to  be  admitted  to  a  corner  and 
listen  to  them.  It  was  a  feast  to  me,  I  know,  and  I 
still  treasure  the  memory  of  those  delightful  even 
ings  at  Gainesville  and  Jefferson  and  Monroe  and 


264  BILL   AKP. 

Watkinsville  and  Clarkesville,  when  Howell  Cobb 
and  Hilly er  and  Dougherty  and  Overby  and  Hut- 
chins  and  Peeples  and  Jackson  and  Hull  and 
Underwood  were  the  luminaries  of  the  western 
circuit.  What  a  galaxy  was  there— all  notable  men 
in  their  day,  and  all  honorable.  There  was  no 
trickery  in  their  practice,  for  they  scorned  it,  and 
they  loved  to  meet  each  other  on  these  semi-annual 
ridings,  and  each  one  was  expected  to  come  laden 
with  a  new  batch  of  anecdotes  wherewith  to  cheer 
the  night.  Book  agents  were  unknown;  newspa 
pers  were  neither  numerous  or  newsy,  and  hence 
it  was  a  great  comfort  to  catch  the  sparks  of  genius 
as  they  scentillated  from  the  lawyers  and  the  poli 
ticians  on  the  stump  and  in  the  forum.  Stump 
politics  were  a  big  thing  with  the  people.  The  two 
great  parties  of  Whigs  and  Democrats  were  pretty 
equally  divided.  Sometimes  one  was  in  power  and 
sometimes  the  other,  and  the  contest  went  on  from 
year  to  year  and  never  ceased  to  create  excitement. 
It  is  not  so  now  in  the  South,  for  there  is  practically 
but  one  party  and  it  takes  two  to  get  up  a  fight. 

But  this  venerable  town  had  memories,  and  its 
moss  covered  hotel  with  its  steep  stairs  and  narrow 
passages  carried  me  back  to  those  good  old  primi 
tive  times,  and  I  felt  like  painting  a  head  board  and 
nailing  it  up  somewhere  with  the  inscription, 
"Sacred  to  the  memory  of ." 

A  friend  said  that  it  was  a  pity  the  old  house 
would  not  catch  fire  and  burn  up.  But  no.  I 
wouldent  have  it  so.  Let  it  stand  if  it  will  stand. 
It  will  never  rot,  for  the  timbers  are  all  heart  and 


BILL   ARP.  265 

hewed  and  honest.    I  felt  like  taking  off  my  hat  to 
it  and  saying: 

Good  friend,  let's  spare  that  barn, 

Touch  not  its  mossy  roof — 
Its  walls  heard  many  a  yarn 

In  its  historic  youth. 

Under  the  weight  of  years 

Its  back  has  crooked  grown; 
Look  at  the  creaking  doors, 

See  how  the  stairs  are  worn. 

Oft  in  each  hall  and  room, 

Lye-soap  and  sand  were  thrown, 
And  many  a  home-made  broom 

And  many  a  shuck  have  gone. 

Full  many  a  chick  was  killed, 

And  died  without  a  tear, 
And  many  a  guest  was  filled 

With  comfort  and  good  cheer. 

No,  no;  let's  keep  the  inn, 

Though  it  has  lost  the  sign — 
Keep  it  for  what  it's  been— 

Keep  it  for  auld  lang  syne. 

A  good  old  matron  is  keeping  it  now,  and  her 
table  abounds  in  generous  old-fashioned  fare. 

The  other  day  Judge  Milner  and  Col.  McCamy 
and  I  were  lamenting  that  Judge  Underwood,  the 
last  of  that  splendid  galaxy  of  lawyers,  had  passed 
over  the  river,  and  we  exchanged  many  delightful 
recollections  of  him,  for  he  was  a  genial  gentleman, 
and  his  presence  always  brought  sunshine.  He  was 
a  notable  man— notable  as  a  jugde,  as  a  lawyer,  as 
congressman,  and  as  a  wit.  We  recalled  the  famous 
Calhoun  convention,  when  Judge  Wright  and  Gen 
eral  Young  and  General  Wofford  and  Lewis  Tum- 
lin  and  some  others  were  candidates  for  the  nomi- 


266  BILL    ARP. 

nation  to  congress,  and  no  man  had  enough  votes 
to  elect,  and  all  were  stubborn,  and  the  balloting 
went  on  all  day,  and  part  of  the  night,  and  the  del 
egates  were  getting  mad  and  furious  and  were 
about  to  break  up  in  a  row,  and  Judge  Underwood, 
who  was  not  a  candidate,  volunteered  to  make  a 
concililiatory  speech,  and  he  did  it  in  such  a  delight 
ful,  affectionate  manner,  and  praised  up  all  the 
candidates  in  such  eloquent  tributes  that  when  he 
closed  one  man  got  up  and  waved  his  hat  and  moved 
three  cheers  for  Judge  Underwood,  and  they 
were  given  with  wild  enthusiasm,  and  right  on  top 
ot  it  another  delegate  moved  that  he  be  nominated 
for  congress  by  acclamation,  and  he  was.  Never 
was  there  such  a  surprise  to  anybody  except  to  the 
judge,,  though  he  always  denied  that  it  was  a  pre 
concerted  scheme. 

Oh,  rare  Judge  Underwood!  Colonel  McCamy 
remarked  that  the  judge  did  not  have  a  very  high 
regard  for  that  picture  of  justice  which  makes  her 
blindfolded  and  holding  the  scales  equally  balanced 
in  her  hand.  So  far  as  crime  was  concerned  he 
claimed  the  right  to  see,  and  he  did  see  the  criminal 
with  open,  unfriendly  eyes,  and  he  sought  to  con 
vict  him  and  gave  the  solicitor-general  so  much  aid 
and  co-operation  that  the  lawyers  used  to  say  the 
judge  and  the  solicitor  were  in  partnership.  His 
charge  to  the  jury  in  a  criminal  case  was  always 
fair  and  strictly  legal,  for  he  was  a  great  lawyer; 
but  woe  be  unto  the  lawyer  who  asked  for  more 
than  he  was  entitled  to.  On  one  occasion  a  big, 
rough,  malicious  young  man  was  indicted  for  strik 
ing  a  smaller  youth  with  a  brickbat  and  inflicting 
a  terrible  wound.  The  small  boy  had  been  imposed 


BILL    ARP.  267 

upon  by  him,  and  seizing  a  stick  he  struck  him  and 
ran.  Bill  Glenn  was  defending  the  young  man  who 
used  the  brick,  and  after  the  judge  had  given  a 
very  fair  charge  to  the  jury,  he  said:  "Now,  gen 
tlemen,,  if  I  have  omitted  anything  that  you  think 
should  be  given  in  the  charge,  I  will  be  glad  to  be 
reminded  of  it."  Bill  Glenn  rose  forward  and, 
said,  "I  believe  your  honor  omitted  to  charge  the 
jury  a  man  may  strike  another  in  self-defense." 

"Yes,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  said  the  judge, 
with  great  sarcasm.  "Yes,  there  is  such  a  provi 
sion  in  the  law,  and  if  you  believe  from  the  evidence 
that  this  great  big,  double- jointed,  long-armed,  big 
fisted  young  gentleman  was  running  after  that  puny 
pale-faced  boy  with  that  brickbat,  and  because  he 
couldent  catch  him  threw  it  at  him  with  all  his 
force,  and  struck  him  on  the  back  of  the  head  and 
knocked  him  senseless,  and  that  he  did  all  this  in 
self-defense,  then  you  can  find  the  defendant  not 
guilty.  Is  there  anything  else,  Brother  Glenn?" 

"Nothing,  I  believe  sir.  Your  honor  has  cov 
ered  the  ground,"  said  Glenn,  biting  his  lips. 

"I  was  always  afraid,"  said  McCamy,  "to  ask  the 
judge  to  charge  anything  more  than  he  chose  to— 
especially  in  a  criminal  case." 


268  BILL   ARP. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


THE  OLD-TIME  DAKKIES. 

A  merchant  or  a  lawyer  or  any  outsider  who  never 
farmed  any  has  got  an  idea  that  farming  is  a  mighty 
simple,  and  easy,  and  innocent  sort  of  business.  They 
think  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  plow  and  hoe  and 
gather  the  crop,  and  there  is  no  worry  or  complica 
tion  about  it,  except  you  can't  get  a  rain  every  time 
you  want  it,  and  the  crop  is  short  in  consequence.  I 
had  pretty  much  that  sort  of  a  notion  myself,  but  I 
know  better  now.  I've  been  farming  for  five  years, 
and  I  like  it  better  and  better ;  I  like  the  freedom  of 
it,  its  latitude  and  longitude  and  its  variety ;  but  there 
is  a  power  of  little  worries,  and  not  a  few  big  ones, 
that  a  man  has  to  encounter  and  provide  for  that 
these  outsiders  never  dreamed  of.  When  a  man  is 
running  hired  labor  it  takes  about  half  his  time  to 
watch  'em  and  keep  'em  from  wasting  things  and 
losing  things  and  doing  things  wrong.  I  went  down 
in  the  field  yesterday  and  stumbled  on  the  monkey- 
wrench  in  the  grass  by  the  turn  row,  and  it  had  been 
there  for  a  month,  and  I  had  hunted  for  it  all  over  the 
premises,  and  nobody  could  tell  anything  about  it; 
but  now  the  darkey  "members  takin'  it  down  dar  to 
screw  up  de  taps  on  de  cultivator. ' '  Not  long  ago  I 
found  the  hatchet  in  the  edge  of  the  bushes  where  one 
of  the  boys  had  cut  poles  to  lay  off:  by.  I  can  pick 
up  scooters  and  dull  plows  all  about  the  farm,  in  the 
corners  of  the  panels  and  on  the  stumps  where  they 
put  'em  when  they  changed  'em.  My  log  chain  is 
missing  now,  and  the  little  crow-bar  and  one  of  the 


BILL    AKP.  269 

hammers,  for  sometimes  I  have  to  leave  home  for  a 
few  days,  and  although  these  niggers  and  my  yearlin' 
boys  do  their  level  best  to  surprise  me  with  doin'  a 
power  of  work  while  I  was  gone,  they  don't  notice 
little  things;  they  lose  at  the  bung-hole  while  stop 
ping  up  the  spigot,  or  vice  varcy,  as  the  saying  is. 
They  bore  the  augur  bit  against  a  nail,  or  dull  the 
saw  in  the  same  way,  and  let  the  old  cow  get  in  the 
orchard,  or  the  hogs  into  the  tater  patch.  I've  got 
good  workin'  boys  and  right  industrious  darkeys,  but 
it  takes  a  man  with  a  head  on  and  his  eyes  well  open 
to  keep  up  with  'em  and  watch  out  for  little  things 
—little  damages  that  aggravate  a  man  and  keep  him 
in  a  fret,  that  is  if  he  is  but  human  and  can't  help 
fretting  when  things  go  wrong.  A  nabor  borrowed 
my  brace  and  bit,  and  the  bit  came  back  with  one 
corner  off ;  another  one  borrowed  my  cross-cut  saw, 
and  it  came  back  awful  dull,  and  will  cost  me  a  new 
file.  They  don't  like  it  if  I  don't  lend  them  my 
mower  to  cut  their  clover,  though  they  never  have 
cleaned  up  the  rocks  in  their  field. 

A  darkey  will  work  a  mule  sometimes  for  two 
hours  with  the  hames  out  of  the  collar  and  never  see 
it,  and  he  thinks  it  mighty  hard  if  you  won't  lend 
him  a  mule  to  ride  to  meetin'  of  a  Sunday.  But  I 
won't  do  that.  They  beg  me  out  of  a  heap  of  things, 
but  they  shant  ride  my  stock  of  Sundays,  for  I  hate 
to  do  it  myself,  and  when  a  darkey  gets  on  a  mule 
and  out  of  sight  he  is  like  a  beggar  on  horseback— 
he'll  ride  him  and  run  him  as  long  as  he  can  stand 
up.  I  like  the  darkeys,  I  do,  but  I  haven't  got  much 
hope  of  'em  ever  being  anything  but  the  same  old 
careless,  contented,  thoughtless  creatures  they  always 
were.  I've  got  one  who  took  a  notion  he  would 
lay  up  half  of  his  wages  in  spite  of  himself,  and  he 


270  BILL    AKP. 

told  me  to  put  it  in  the  contract  that  I  wasn't  to 
pay  him  but  five  dollars  a  month  and  keep  the  other 
half  till  the  end  of  the  year.  And  now  he  tries  to 
beg  me  out  of  the  other  five  at  the  end  of  every 
month,  but  I  won't  pay  it,  and  he  goes  off  satisfied. 
Nabor  Freeman  came  home  the  other  day  and 
found  his  nigger  tenants  right  smart  behind  with 
their  crops,  and  they  had  all  been  off  to  a  three 
day's  meeting  and  an  excursion  besides,  and  so  he 
got  mad  and  hauled  up  Bob,  and  says  he:  "Bob, 
what  in  the  dickens  are  you  all  goin'  to  such  a 
meetin'  for?  What  is  the  matter,  is  the  devil  after 
you  with  a  sharp  stick  and  a  bug  at  the  end  of  it?" 

"Well  now,  boss,  says  Bob,  "I'll  tell  you  how  it 
is.  We  niggers  have  been  seein'  for  a  long  time 
dat  you  white  folks  done  got  this  world,  and  so  we 
is  gwine  to  meetin'  and  fixin'  up  to  get  de  next  one 
as  soon  as  we  git  dar;  dat's  all;"  and  Bob  stretched 
his  mouth  and  showed  his  pearly  teeth,  and  laughed 
loud  at  his  own  wit. 

I  love  to  hear  these  old  time  good  natured  dark 
eys  talk.  John  Thomas  was  in  the  ragged  edge  of  a 
cyclone  the  other  day,  and  said  I,  "John,  what  did 
you  darkeys  do  when  the  cyclone  struck  you?" 
"God  gracious,  boss,  I  tell  you— dem  niggers  just 
frowed  themselves  down  on  the  ground,  sir,  and 
holler  'Oh  Lordy— good  Lord  hab  mercy  on  a 
poor  nigg'er.  Nebber  be  a  bad  nigger  any  more, 
oh  Lordy,  good  Lordy— and  de  old  slycoon  pay  no 
tention  at  all,  but  jes'  lif  'em  up  and  twis'  'em  all 
round  and  toss  'em  ober  de  fence  into  de  red  mud 
hole,  and  Gim,  as  he  was  gwine  ober  de  fence  he 
struck  a  postis  that  was  stickin'  up,  and  he  gethered 
it  wid  both  arms  and  held  on  and  hollered  wus  than 
eber,  'Oh,  Lordy— oh  my  good  Lord.  Bless  de 


BILL    AEP.  271 

Lord,  hab  mercy  on  a  poor  nigger ;'  and  about  that 
time  the  old  sly  coon  twis  he  tail  aroun  and  lif  Gim's 
feet  way  up  over  he's  head  and  his  holt  broke  and 
he  bounced  off  on  the  groun'  and  den  took  anoder 
bounce  into  the  mud  hold,  and  dar  de  consarn  lef 
him. 

"Atter  de  slycon  gone  clean  away,  I  run  up  to 
Gim,  and  says  I,  'Gim,  is  you  dead  or  no?'  Gim 
lyin  dar  in  de  mud  hole  wid  nuffin  but  his  head  out. 
Gim  neber  spoke  nary  word,  and  his  eyes  was 
swelled  like  a  dead  steer,  and  says  I  agin,  'I  say, 
Gim,  is  you  done  gone  clean  dead?'  for  you  see  I 
thought  if  Gim  dead  no  use  in  my  wading  in  de  mud 
after  him,  and  Gim  he  grunt  and  wall  one  eye  at  me 
and  whisper,  'Wha  is  he!'  Wha's  who,'  said  I. 
'De  debbil,'  said  he.  'Done  gone,'  said  I— 'gone 
clean  away.  Git  up  from  dar— git  up,  I  say.'  Gim 
gib  a  groan  and  say,  "I  can't,  I'm  done  dead.'  'Git 
up,  I  tell  yo,'  said  I,  but  Gim  neber  move. 

"Bymeby  I  frow  up  my  hands  and  look  down  de 
big  road  and  say,  'My  good  Lord  Almighty,  ef  dat 
old  sly  coon  ami  a  comin  right  back  here.'  Neber 
see  a  nigger  come  to  life  like  Gim.  He  bounced 
outen  dat  mud  hole  and  start  off  up  de  road  a  run- 
nin'  and  hollerin'  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  White 
folks  come  along  and  stop  him  and  neber  find  a 
scratch.  When  he  got  back  we  was  all  cuttin'  away 
de  timbers  from  offen  de  mules,  and  it  was  half  an 
hour  before  we  could  git  Gim  to  strike  ary  lick.  Tell 
you  what,  boss,  we  was  all  mighty  bad  skeered,  but  I 
neber  see  a  nigger  as  onready  for  jedgment  as  dat 
same  nigger  Gim.  When  de  old  debil  do  get  him 
he  raise  a  rumpus  down  in  dem  settlements,  shore." 

"Dident  the  cyclone  take  off  the  roof  of  your 
cabin,  Bob?" 


272  BILL    AKP. 

"Of  course  he  did,  boss.  He  take  de  roof  off 
along  eberywhere  he  go.  Look  like  ebery  house  he 
come  to  he  dip  down  and  say,  take  your  hat  off, 
don't  you  see  me  comin',  and  aint  you  got  no  man 
ners',  and  zip,  he  strike  'em  and  take  it  off  hisself. 
He  take  de  roof  offen  de  colored  school  and  offen  de 
white  school  all  de  same.  He  no  respekter  of  pus- 
sons,  bless  God.  Tell  you,  boss,  what  I  think  about 
dis  old  slycoon,  I  tink  he  nuffin  but  de  old  debil  on 
a  scursion,  yah,  yah,  yah,"  and  Bob  cackled  at  his 
own  ideas. 

Bob  came  over  last  Sunday  to  see  us.  He  used  to 
be  a  tenant  of  mine  and  we  liked  him  because  he 
had  a  big  mouth  and  was  always  happy.  He  was 
a  good  worker  and  not  afraid  of  the  weather,  but 
he  was  careless  and  left  his  tools  most  anywhere  and 
barked  my  young  apple  trees  when  plowing  the 
orchard.  I  loaned  him  a  new  shovel  to  work  the 
road  and  he  lost  it,  but  I  couldn't  stay  mad  with 
Bob  long  at  a  time.  We  never  supposed  he  could 
get  mad  enough  to  have  a  fight  with  anybody,  but  he 
was  not  on  good  terms  with  a  neighboring  darkey, 
and  so  one  Saturday  when  they  both  came  from 
town  and  had  taken  a  drink  or  two  of  red  eye  they 
undertook  to  settle  the  old  feud  and  Bob  killed  him. 
It  was  a  willing  fight  and  a  bad  case  all  around,  and 
Bob  got  two  years  and  would  have  got  ten  but  for 
his  good  character  all  his  previous  life.  He  has 
served  out  his  term  and  honestly  feels  that  he  has 
paid  the  debt,  if  he  ever  owed  it. 

"How  did  they  treat  you,  Bob?" 

"Well,,  sir,  dey  treat  me  purty  well,  purty  well; 
I  can't  complain.  No,  sir,  I  can't  complain.  For 
de  fust  six  mont  I  didn't  like  it  very  well,  for,  you 


BILL   AEP.  273 

see,  me  and  de  gyards  hadn't  got  'quainted. 
Bimeby,  when  we  all  got  'quainted,  dey  took  a  likin' 
to  me  and  tell  de  capen  to  take  off  my  shackles,  and 
he  take  'em  off.  De  best  way  is  to  make  friens 
with  de  gyard  fust,  jes  like  a  man  wants  to  make 
f rien  of  another  man  he  muches  up  de  chillun  fust, 
and  dat  gits  de  old  man  and  de  old  'oman,  too. 
Den  de  next  best  way  is  ter  pervide  by  the  laws  as 
nigh  as  you  kin.  De  capen  tell  us  dat  de  fust 
day— sez  he,  'boys,  you  must  pervide  by  de  laws.' 
Dere  wasent  but  three  or  four  of  'em,  and  I  lissen 
wid  both  years  wide  open,  and  I  say  to  myself,  Bob 
Smith,  you  mus  pervide  by  the  laws,  and  shore  enuf 
I  did,  and  atter  we  git  'quainted  like,  we  gits  sorter 
intimat  and  I  nevre  had  any  trouble.  Dey  like  me 
so  well  dey  shorten  my  term  three  months  and  three 
days,  and  when  I  cum  away  de  capen  say,  "Bob,  I 
am  sorry  to  see  you  go — can't  you  finish  out  your 
visit?"  And  I  say,  ' Capen,  I  likes  you  mighty  well, 
but  dis  is  de  longest  visit  I  eber  made  enybody  in 
my  life,  and  if  we  ever  meet  again,  you  will  have  to 
come  to  my  house.' 

1 '  Did  they  work  you  hard,  Bob  f " 

"No,  sir,  not  overly  hard— got  to  do  a  full  day's 
work,  though,  and  dey  knows  perzactly  what  it  is. 
Can't  fool  'em,  and  can't  play  sick  unless  you  is 
sick,  and  hardly  den.  I  neber  lose  but  four  days  in 
all  my  time.  Heap  times  I  thought  I  was  sick,  and 
if  I  had  been  home  I  would  have  laid  up  shore  but 
dey  said  I  wasent,  and  dey  looked  like  dey  knowed 
and  I  didn't  know,  and  so  I  went  to  work,  and  shore 
enuf  I  was  all  right  agin  by  dinner.  Colonel  Tow 
ers  he  come  along  every  week  or  so  and  look  roun, 
and  he  ax  me  if  I  have  any  complaint,  and  I  say, 

(18) 


274  BILL    AKP. 

'No,  sir,  sepen  I  would  like  some  poun  cake,'  and 
he  says  he  forgot  to  bring  it.  I  tell  you  what,  boss, 
de  very  best  thing  for  a  man  to  do  when  he  gits  dar 
is  not  to  go  dar— not  to  do  nuffin  to  go  dar  for,  and 
den  when  he  gits  dar  de  nex  bes  thing  is  to  pervide 
by  de  laws.  Dere  is  some  folks  in  dar  jes  as  mean 
and  no  count  as  folks  outen  dar.  Dere  is  mean 
niggers  and  mean  white  folks  everywhere  you  go. 
Some  folks  cum  in  de  worl  mean  and  dey  stays  mean 
all  de  time ;  but  I  say  dis,  dat  if  a  man,  when  he  goes 
dar,  will  haive  hisself  and  pervide  by  de  laws  he  kin 
git  along  and  have  a  tolable  easy  time. 

"De  last  six  mont  I  stay  dar  I  dident  have  to 
work  any.  Dey  made  me  a  trusty  and  I  have  charge 
of  de  dogs— de  track  dogs— and  when  de  niggers 
get  away  de  boss  he  holler  for  Bob  mighty  quick. 
We  had  two  track  dogs ;  one  of  'em  was  a  big,  long- 
eared  houn  dog— could  track  mighty  fast— de  oder 
was  a  small  dog,  sorter  like  a  fice,  but  he  mighty 
shore  on  de  scent  of  a  runaway.  One  mornin'  about 
daybreak  de  boss  holler,  'Git  up,  Bob,  git  up  quick, 
bring  de  dogs,  two  niggers  got  away.'  So  I  brings 
de  dogs  and  we  put  em  on  de  track,  and  away  dey 
went  cross  an  old  field  and  into  de  woods  and  was 
barkin'  every  step.  I  throws  de  saddles  on  de  mules 
in  a  hurry,  and  I  got  on  one  and  de  boss  on  toder 
and  away  we  went  after  de  dogs.  De  runaways 
dident  have  mor'n  half  an  hour  start  and  de  track 
was  powerful  warm.  And  so  de  dogs  run  and  de 
niggers  run  and  we  run,  and  bimeby  after  we  gone 
about  four  miles  we  hear  de  old  houn  change  his 
tune  like  he  treed  sumfin,  and  de  boss  say,  'Bob,  old 
Sheriff  have  got  'em.'  And  shore  enuf  when  we 
got  dar  de  runaways  was  up  in  a  white  oak  tree  a 


BILL   ARP.  275 

settin'  on  a  limb,  and  de  old  houn  dog  was  a  settin' 
on  de  groun  wid  his  head  up  a  lookin'  at  'em  and  a 
barkin',  and  every  time  he  open  his  mouf  he  say, 
'Too-ooo  of  'em,  too-ooo  of  em,  too-ooo  of  'em.' 
And  de  little  dog  was  a  settin'  back  on  his  tail,  and 
he  say,  'Dats  a  fak,  dats  a  fak,  dats  a  fak.'  Yah, 
yah,  yah.  Boss  make  dem  niggers  come  down  from 
dar  quick  and  march  'em  back  to  de  stockade  and 
give  'em  forty  lashes  apiece,  cos  you  see  dey  dident 
pervide  by  de  laws." 

Bob  asked  me  one  day  if  a  man's  soul  could  be 
split  in  two.  "What  do  you  mean,"  said  I,  "what 
kind  of  a  fool  question  is  that?"  Bob  spread  his 
big  mouth  and  said:  "My  boss  was  tryin'  to  devil 
me  one  day  'bout  gwine  to  meetin'  so  much,  and  he 
say:  'Bob,  don't  you  know  dat  a  nigger  ain't  got 
no  soul!'  And  den  I  ax  him  if  a  white  man  got  a 
soul,  and  he  say,  t  Of  course  he  had. '  And  den  I  say, 
'Sposin'  a  colored  man  is  a  melatter  and  is  jes  half 
and  half,  how's  dat!'  He  study  awhile  and  say  he 
'low  a  melatter  have  jes  half  a  soul.  And  den  I  say, 
'Look  a  here,  boss,  what  kind  of  a  thing  is  dat,  dat 
half  a  soul!  Can  you  split  a  soul  in  two!'  He  turn 
off  and  laugh  and  say,  'Damfino,'  and  I  tell  him  I's 
gwine  to  ax  you  about  it."  And  Bob  showed  his 
pearly  teeth  and  laughed  tumultuously. 

When  the  prohibition  election  came  off  in  our 
county  the  negroes  were  generally  on  the  side  of 
whiskey,  more  whiskey,  and  better  whiskey,  but 
Bob  came  up  as  a  temperance  darkey  and  made  a 
speech  to  the  darkeys  of  his  church.  A  whiskey 
man  in  the  crowd  interrupted  him  and  said,  "Sho 
as  you  are  bornd,  Bob  Smith,  effen  you  vote  whis 
key  outen  Cartersville  de  grass  will  grow  waist 


276  BILL   AKP. 

high  in  dem  streets.''  "  'Sposin'  it  do!"  said  Bob, 
"  'sposin'  it  do?  Den  we'll  raise  more  hay  and  less 
hell,  and  dat's  what's  de  matter  wid  Hannah.  Yah! 
Yah!" 


BILL    AKP.  277 


CHAPTER  XL. 


OWLS,  SNAKES  AND  WHANG-DOODLES. 

Most  every  night  about  half -past  eight, 

A  screech  owl  mourneth  at  the  outside  gate. 

The  sweet  little  katydids  sing  all  the  day  long. 
Earlier  in  the  season  they  were  happy  only  at  night, 
but  now  the  woods  are  full  of  their  music  by  day. 
It  is  not  a  song  from  the  mouth,  but  they  rub  the 
bars  of  their  wings  together  and  puff  out  their 
bodies  for  sounding  boards,  and  if  a  man  could  sing 
as  loud  in  proportion  to  size  I  suppose  he  could  be 
heard  across  the  Atlantic  ocean,  and  his  voice  would 
make  an  earthquake  and  shake  down  the  stars,  and 
so  that  wouldn't  do  at  all,  and  he  wasn't  made  that 
way.  But  these  little  screech  owls  are  a  nuisance 
and  are  enough  to  make  a  nervous  woman  have  fits 
or  hysterics  or  something.  I  shot  one  on  the  gate 
post  one  night  while  he  was  complaining  about 
something  we  had  done  to  him,  but  another  one 
came  back  and  set  up  his  mournful  wails.  I  wonder 
what  makes  'em  stay  away  off  in  the  woods  all  day 
and  come  screeching  around  the  house  at  night  like 
they  wanted  to  haunt  us.  There  is  some  excuse  for 
superstition  about  owls,  for  they  love  darkness  rath 
er  than  light,  and  the  ancient  philosophers  said  they 
were  the  sentinels  and  forerunners  of  evil  spirits, 
and  the  Scriptures  classed  'em  with  demons  and  all 
sorts  of  trouble  and  misery.  The  prophet  Isaiah 
cursed  Babylon  and  said  the  owl  should  dwell  there, 


278  BILL   ARP. 

and  satyrs  should  dance  there.  And  then  they  look 
so  wise  out  of  their  big  eyes  and  twist  their  heads 
'round  and  'round  watching  you,  and  you  can't 
scare  'em  nor  tame  'em.  Well,  they  were  made  for 
something,  but  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  and  I  have 
frequently  thought  that  when  the  flood  covered  the 
earth  it  was  a  mighty  good  time  for  Father  Noah  to 
have  left  out  of  the  ark  all  such  disagreeable  var 
mints  as  owls,  and  snakes,  and  whang-doodles  that 
mourn  for  their  first-born. 

General  Black  told  me  that  if  I  wanted  to  get  rid 
of  screech  owls  to  put  the  shovel  in  the  fire  when  one 
of  'em  was  a  screechin'  and  he  would  leave  forth 
with.  The  general  said  the  fire  contracted  with  the 
oxide  in  the  iron  and  deluminated  an  odoriferous 
that  was  disagreeable  to  the  oil  factories  of  the  bird. 
Jesso.  Well,  I  tried  it,  and  he  dident  leave  worth 
a  cent. 

That  screech  owl  is  sitting  on  the  gate-post  sing 
ing  a  funeral  dirge.  It's  a  bird  of  bad  omen,  and  I 
would  shoot  him,  but  my  wife  says  an  old  African 
witch  told  her  grandmother  that  there  would  be  a 
death  in  the  family  if  you  killed  one  of  'em,  shore. 
It  always  seemed  to  me  that  in  the  fitness  of  things 
they  belonged  to  a  graveyard  or  a  haunted  house  or 
a  dismal  swamp  or  a  country  meetin'  house  that  the 
hogs  slept  under  and  nobody  preached  in.  I  don't 
like  'em,  especially  at  this  juncture  of  home  con 
cerns,  for  my  wife  saw  the  last  new  moon  through  a 
bushy  tree  top  right  over  her  left  shoulder,  which 
she  didn't  mean  to  do  by  no  means.  Things  don't 
move  on  serenely,  and  the  old  horseshoe  over  the 
kitchen  door  has  lost  its  influence.  I  havent  seen  a 
pin  on  the  floor  that  dident  pint  away  from  me,  and 


BILL    ARP.  279 

the  other  day  a  rabbit  run  across  the  road  right  be 
fore  me,  and  soon  after  I  come  to  a  snake  tract, 
which  they  say  is  mighty  bad  if  you  don't  rub  it  out 
with  your  face  towards  the  snake,  but  I  couldn't  tell 
whether  the  snake  that  made  the  track  was  going 
north  or  coming  back,  and  so  had  to  rub  out  by 
guess,  and  now  while  I'm  a-writin'  Mrs.  Arp  has  got 
a  hummin'  in  her  right  ear,  and  she  says  it  sounds 
like  an  Eolian  harp,  or  a  musketer  away  off,  and 
that's  another  funeral  sign— and  last  night  a  black 
pet  chicken  came  in  the  family  room  while  we  was 
at  supper  and  went  to  roost  on  top  of  a  picture  that 
hung  over  the  clock  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  nobody 
knowed  it  until  we  had  put  the  light  out  and  went 
to  bed,  when  it  chuckled  a  little  and  Mrs.  Arp 
chuckled  a  good  deal  until  I  struck  a  light,  and  now 
she  says  that  Mr.  Poe  had  a  raven  that  done  the 
same  thing  and  he  died  soon  after. 

The  weather  is  sad.  It  mists  and  weeps  and  stays 
cloudy  all  the  time,  and  that  makes  everybody 
gloomy.  There  hasent  been  a  dry  day  in  three 
weeks  that  we  can  plow.  The  grass  grows  as  fast 
as  the  cotton  and  the  seed  will  scatter  all  over  the 
open  bolls  and  the  cotton  buyers  will  dock  us  a  cent 
for  trash.  Things  are  not  working  right  for  us 
farmers,  but  we  can't  help  it.  The  flies  take  shelter 
in  the  house,  and  so  do  the  bugs  and  the  grand-dad 
dies  and  the  bats. 

"Here,  William,  quick,  I  say— here's  a  grand- 
daddy  on  me;  don't  you  see;  why  don't  you  take 
him  off!  Lord  a  mercy,  did  I  ever  see  a  man  as 
slow  as  you  are?  Do  please  take  the  thing  off." 

Well,  you  see  it  takes  a  long  time  to  find  the 
thing,  and  when  you  do  he's  a  crawlin'  on  the  floor 


280  BILL    ARP. 

a  gettin'  away  as  fast  as  he  can,  and  she  declares 
that's  another  one  and  I  have  to  hunt  all  over  her 
for  five  minutes. 

' i  There 's  one  of  those  contemptible  bats  in  here 
again.  Get  the  broom,  William,  I  wouldn't  have  it 
to  get  on  me  for  a  thousand  dollars.  Mercy  on  me ! 
I  do  believe  the  house  will  be  run  over  with  vermin. 
Don't  break  the  bureau  glass.  Why  don't  you  stand 
on  the  table!  Why,  you  don't  come  in  a  yard  of 
him!  It  does  seem  to  me  if  I  was  a  man  I  could 
knock  a  bat  down." 

"He  has  gone  out,"  said  I  meekly. 

"How  do  you  know— did  you  see  him?  Bet  any 
thing  it's  on  my  bed  somewhere.  Move  the  pillows 
and  bolster.  I'll  dream  about  the  thing  all  night." 

It  looks  like  I'll  perish  to  death  for  want  of  some 
good  warm  vittels.  I'm  juicin'  away.  You  see  when 
Mrs.  Arp  was  a  cookin'  the  other  day  in  the  base 
ment  an  innocent  chicken  snake  crawled  out  from 
behind  the  meal-chest.  Such  a  scream  was  never 
heard  since  the  Injuns  scalped  my  great  uncle.  I 
run  for  my  life  and  was  pickin'  her  up  in  my  arms 
when  she  rallied  and  said,  "Kill  the  snake  first;" 
and  I  killed  it.  He  was  a  lovely  snake— all  speckled 
with  dark  green  and  white,  and  had  just  swallowed 
a  mouse.  But,  alas!  the  kitchen  is  purty  much  de 
serted  and  all  regular  cooking  abandoned.  When 
they  cook  now  I  have  to  take  a  gun  and  stand  guard. 
I  march  forred  and  backwards  like  a  sentinel.  I've 
had  to  move  the  meal  tub  and  the  stove  wood  and 
everything  else  -fourteen  times,  for  she  declares  it's 
got  a  mate  and  the  mate  is  there  somewhere. 
"Maybe  it's  a  bachelor  snake,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  of  course,  you  don't  believe  there's  another 
snake  in  the  wide  world— and  I've  found  out  you 


BILL   AEP.  281 

killed  one  last  week  under  the  hearth,  and  you  told 
the  children  not  to  let  me  know  anything  about  it; 
didn't  youT' 

"It  was  a  very  little  one,"  said  I,  "and  I  dident 
want  you  troubled  about  it." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  was  a  little  one,  but  snakes  are 
snakes,  and  where  there's  little  ones  there's  big 
ones.  I  do  believe  the  whole  plantation  is  haunted 
with  'em,  and  everywhere  else,  for  I  can't  take  up 
a  newspaper  without  seeing  where  somebody  was 
bitten." 

"Men  and  boys,"  says  I;  "I  havent  seen  any; 
mention  of  a  woman  being  bitten  nowhere— fact  is, 
I  don't  believe  they  bite  females.  You  know  that 
old  mother  Eve  was  mighty  friendly  with  'em." 

"Yes,  that's  always  the  way— you  turn  every 
thing  into  ridicule.  Well,  you  may  hire  a  cook;  I'm 
not  going  to  risk  my  life  nor  the  children's  in  this 
old  haunted  kitchen." 

But  I  think  she  is  getting  over  it,  and  with  a  little 
encouragement  things  will  resume  their  natural 
condition  in  a  few  days.  The  greatest  trouble  I 
have  in  this  connection  is  Freeman— my  nab  or 
Freeman.  I  reckon  he  don't  mean  any  harm  by  it; 
but  just  as  soon  as  my  wife,  Mrs.  Arp,  told  him 
about  the  snake,  he  up  and  told  her  about  killin' 
one  over  in  his  field  as  long  as  a  fence  rail,  and  how 
it  had  its  den  in  a  rock  pile,  and  would  run  out  after 
him  and  the  niggers,  and  then  retreat;  and  they 
were  fightin'  and  runnin'  and  runnin'  and  fightin' 
for  two  hours,  until  they  wore  him  out;  and  he 
brung  down  the  rattles  of  a  rattlesnake  and  rattled 
'em  around,  and  told  us  about  finding  a  spring  liz 
ard  in  the  water  pail,  and  had  liked  to  have  swal- 


282  BILL   AEP. 

lered  him  alive  in  the  gourd.  And  now  my  wife, 
Mrs.  Arp,  won't  drink  out  of  anything  but  a  glass 
goblet ;  and  when  she  walks  out  in  the  front  yard  she 
has  one  eye  for  flowers  and  the  other  for  snakes  and 
lizards,  and  shakes  her  clothes  tremendous  when 
she  comes  back.  I  wish  that  one  would  bite  Free 
man. 


BILL    AEP.  283 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


Music. 

Music  is  the  only  employment  that  is  innocent  and 
refining,  and  that  cannot  be  indulged  in  to  excess. 
It  stands  by  itself  as  the  peculiar  gift  of  God.  It  is 
the  only  art  that  is  alike  common  to  angels  and  to 
men.  It  has  a  wonderful  compass  and  variety,  and 
yet  from  the  grandest  to  the  simplest,  it  is  all  pleas 
ing  and  all  innocent.  Every  other  pleasure  can  be 
carried  to  dissipation,  but  not  music. 

The  highest  order  of  music  is  that  which  we  never 
hear,  but  only  read  about  and  wonder.  It  is  called 
the  music  of  the  spheres— the  grand  symphony  that 
is  made  by  the  planets  and  other  heavenly  bodies 
coursing  around  the  sun,  and  which  Milton  says  is 
heard  only  by  God  and  the  angels.  I  don't  suppose 
that  such  creatures  as  we  are,  afflicted  and  limited 
with  original  sin,  could  bear  that  kind  of  music. 
The  child  that  is  charmed  with  a  lullaby  or  soothed 
to  sleep  with  "Hush,  my  dear,  lie  still  and  slum 
ber,  "  would  be  frightened  at  an  oratorio  from  Han 
del.  But  musical  taste  is  progressive,  like  every 
other  good  thing. 

The  time  was  when  I  thought  "Billy  in  the  Low 
Grounds/'  and  "Bonaparte  Crossing  the  Rhine," 
perfectly  splendid,  but  I  don't  now.  I  have  advanced 
to  a  higher  grade.  By  degrees  the  children  have 
educated  me,  and  as  they  climb  up,  I  climb  a  little 
too.  Time  was  when  I  thought  "Kathleen  Mavour- 


284  BILL   AKP. 

f  ''T 

neen"  the  sweetest  song,  and  my  wife,  whom  I  was 
courting,  the  sweetest  singer  in  the  world.  But  I 
don't  now— that  is,  I  mean  the  song.  There  are 
sweeter  songs.  I  don't  wish  to  be  misunderstood 
about  the  singer.  No  doubt  her  voice  has  the  same 
alluring,  ensnaring,  angelic,  elysian  sweetness  it 
had  forty  years  ago,  more  or  less,  but  the  fault  is  in 
me,  for  when  a  man  has  once  been  allured,  and  en 
snared,  and  is  getting  old  and  deaf,  he  loses  some  of 
his  gushing  appreciation.  Nevertheless,  when  her 
eldest  daughter  touches  the  ivory  keys  and  sings 
Longfellow's  beautiful  hymn  of 

"The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 
Falls  from  the  wings  of  night, ' f 

rny  appreciation  seems  to  come  back,  and  it  makes 
me  calm  and  serene. 

There  is  nothing  in  all  nature  that  so  proves  the 
goodness  of  God  to  his  creatures  as  in  giving  to 
them  the  love  of  music  and  the  faculty  to  make  it. 
It  is  the  cheapest  and  the  most  universal  pleasure. 
Much  of  it  costs  nothing,  for  we  hear  it  in  the  winds 
and  waves,  the  trees,  the  waterfalls,  and  from  birds 
and  insects.  It  is  of  many  kinds,  from  the  pealing 
anthem  that  swells  the  note  of  praise  in  Westmin 
ster  Abbey  down  to  the  plantation  harmonies  of  the 
old-time  darkies  around  the  corn-pile.  Between 
these  extremes  we  have  the  music  of  the  drama,  the 
concert,  the  nursery,  and  the  drawing-room. 

I  was  having  these  thoughts  because  Mrs.  Arp  and 
the  children  were  practicing  some  church  music  in 
the  parlor,  preparing  for  Sunday.  Some  of  the 
family  belong  to  the  choir,  and  it  is  a  good  thing  to 
belong  to.  Choirs  have  their  little  musical  fusses 
sometimes,  and  get  in  the  pouts;  but,  nevertheless, 


BILL   AKP.  285 

it  is  a  good  place  to  raise  children.  It  makes  them 
go  to  church  and  to  Sunday-school,  and  go  early, 
and  if  they  are  facing  the  congregation  they  have 
to  keep  awake  and  behave  decently,  and  they  do 
their  best  to  look  pretty  and  sing  sweetly.  I  used  to 
belong  to  the  choir,  and  it  was  there  Mrs.  Arp  saw 
me,  and  ever  and  anon  heard  the  sweet  strains  of 
my  melodious  tenor  voice.  But,  alas,  that  voice  has 
changed  to  a  bass  at  one  end  and  a  falsetto  at  the 
other,  and  " there's  a  melancholy  crack  in  my 
laugh." 

Young  man,  young  woman,  if  you  have  any  gifts 
for  music,  you  had  better  join  the  church  choir,  but 
if  you  haven't,  don't. 

Sacred  music  is  very  much  varied  according  to 
denominations.  The  Eoman  Catholic  church  is  the 
oldest  and  richest  and  has  the  most  passionate  music 
and  the  finest  organs,  and  embraces  a  rendering  of 
such  intense  words  as  are  found  in  the  ''Angus 
Dei,"  and  "Gloria  in  Excelsis,"  and  the  litany  and 
chants  of  the  old  masters.  TJhe  Protestant  church 
has  rejected  the  dramatic  style  and  confined  its 
music  to  hymns  and  psalms  of  sober  temper,  and  in 
the  main,  has  done  away  with  the  fugue  and  gallop 
ing  style  of  one  paut  chasing  another  through  the 
vocal  harmonies. 

I  remember  when  it  was  the  fashion,  in  fashion 
able  choirs,  to  give  one  part  several  feet  the  start  in 
the  race,  and  the  others  would  start  later  and  over 
take  it  before  they  all  got  to  the  end  of  ^  the  line. 
There  is  a  hymn  beginning,  "I  love  to  steal  awhile 
away,"  and  the  tenor  would  start  out  with  "I  love 
to  steal"— and  then  the  alto  would  prance  up  with 
"I  love  to  steal,"  and  then  the  bass  confessed  the 


286  BILL    ARP. 

unfortunate  frailty,  "I  love  to  steal,"  and  hurried 
on  for  fear  the  first  man  would  steal  it  all  before 
he  got  there. 

Sacred  music  is  of  very  ancient  origin.  Indeed,  it 
is  older  than  the  church  or  the  temple,  for  we  find 
that  Moses  sang  a  song  when  he  had  crossed  the 
Bed  Sea,  and  he  said,  "I  will  sing  a  song  unto  the 
Lord,  for  he  is  my  strength  and  my  salavtion,"  and 
when  he  finished  his  song,  Miriam  took  it  up,  and 
she  and  her  maidens  sang  and  made  music  on  tim 
brels.  King  David  sang  all  through  his  psalms,  and 
Isaiah  not  only  sang,  but  wanted  everything  to  sing, 
for  he  says:  "Sing,  oh  ye  heavens,  for  the  Lord 
hath  done  it.  Break  forth  into  singing,  oh  ye  moun 
tains,  for  the  Lord  hath  redeemed  Israel." 

I  was  looking  over  this  book  that  we  are  now 
using  in  our  church,  a  new  and  beautiful  book  con 
taining  1,200  hymns,  and  a  tune  with  written  music 
to  every  hymn.  Here  are  360  authors  of  all  Chris 
tian  denominations.  Of  these,  sixty-one  are  women, 
seventy  are  English  Episcopalians,  twenty  are 
Scotch  Presbyterians,  and  only  eight  are  American 
Presbyterians.  Eight  are  Methodists,  ten  are  Bap 
tist,  fourteen  are  Congregationalists,  and  five  are 
Eoman  Catholics.  The  rest  are  Dissenters,  Luther 
ans,  Unitarians,  Moravians,  Quakers  and  Independ 
ents.  Only  fifty-four  are  Americans.  Leaving  out 
Isaac  Watts  and  Charles  Wesley,  most  of  these 
hymns  were  composed  by  English  Episcopalians. 
Isaac  Watts  was  the  founder  of  hymnology.  One 
hundred  and  twenty-six  of  his  hymns  are  in  this 
book.  He  has  been  dead  142  years,  but  we  are  still 
singing:  "Welcome,  Sweet  Day  of  Best,"  "How 
Beauteous  Are  Their  Feet,"  "When  I  Can  Bead 
My  Title  Clear,"  "Before  Jehovah 's  Awful 


BILL    ARP.  §  287 

Throne,"  "Am  I  a  Soldier  of  the  Cross  1"  and 
many  more  of  his  composing. 

He  was  a  very  small  man  with  a  large  soul.  He 
was  only  five  feet  high,  weighed  less  than  a  hundred 
pounds,  and  never  married.  His  hymns  are  sung 
all  over  the  Christian  world.  Our  grand-parents 
and  parents,  ourselves  and  our  children,  have  all 
treasured  them  and  become  familiar  with  them. 

Charles  Wesley,  a  Methodist,  has  thirty-six  hymns 
in  this  book — most  of  them  inspired  from  his  in 
tense,  absorbing  love  of  the  Savior— such  as  "Blow 
Ye  the  Trumpet,  Blow,"  and  "Jesus,  Lover  of  My 
Soul. ' '  He  was  a  brother  of  John  Wesley,  the  foun 
der  of  Methodism,  and  came  to  Georgia  with  him 
in  1735. 

Eev.  John  Newton  has  twenty-six  hymns  in  this 
collection.  What  a  strange,  eventful  life  was  his. 
Seized  and  impressed  for  a  seaman  on  board  a  man- 
of-war  when  he  was  only  nineteen  years  of  age — 
deserted— was  caught,  and  flogged,  and  degraded- 
deserted  again  and  hired  himself  to  a  slave-trading 
vessel.  Four  years  afterwards  he  went  back  to 
England  and  married  Mary  Catlett,  the  girl  he  had 
been  loving  for  years.  He  then  equipped  a  slaver 
of  his  own,  and  shipped  negroes  from  Africa  to  the 
West  Indies,  and  made  a  fortune. 

In  a  few  years  he  became  disgusted  with  the 
business  and  studied  mathematics,  Latin,  Greek 
and  Hebrew  without  a  teacher.  About  that  time 
Wesley  and  Whitfield  began  their  great  religious 
uprising,  and  he  was  converted  and  joined  them  and 
went  to  preaching.  When  eighty  years  old  he 
preached  three  times  a  week,  and  when  urged  to 
stop  on  account  of  his  feeble  health,  he  replied: 


288  BILL    ARP. 

"What!  Shall  the  old  African  negro  trader  and 
blasphemer  stop  while  he  can  speak?  No!"  No 
wonder  that  the  great  change  inspired  him  to  write 
those  beautiful  hymns:  "Amazing  Grace!  How 
Sweet  the  Sound;"  "One  There  is  Above  All  Oth 
ers;"  "Glorious  Things  of  Thee  Are  Spoken;" 
"Savior,  Visit  Thy  Plantation." 

And  next  comes  Cowper— the  amiable,  lovable, 
miserable  Cowper— whose  life  was  spent  in  alter 
nating  between  hope  and  despair,  and  who  was  sent 
several  times  to  the  insane  asylum.  In  his  lucid  in 
tervals  of  hope  he  composed  such  hymns  as  "Some 
times  a  Light  Surprises,"  "There  is  a  Fountain 
Filled  With  Blood;"  "Oh,  For  a  Closer  Walk  With 
God,"  and  many  others. 

James  Montgomery,  a  Moravian,  has  twenty- 
three  hymns  in  this  book.  His  early  life  was  full  of 
trouble.  He  was  indicted,  tried  and  imprisoned  for 
writing  a  ballad  on  the  fall  of  the  Bastile.  Soon 
after  his  release  he  wrote  an  account  of  the  riot  at 
Sheffield,  and  was  again  imprisoned.  The  press  had 
but  little  freedom  in  his  day,  but  his  gentle,  earnest 
Christian  character  finally  won  for  him  the  regard 
of  his  enemies,  and  he  was  granted  a  pension  by 
the  crown.  There  are  no  hymns  in  this  book  sweet 
er  than  his.  Such,  for  instance,  as  "Oh,  Where 
Shall  Best  Be  Found!"  "Prayer  is  The  Soul's  Sin 
cere  Desire;"  "People  of  The  Living  God,"  etc. 

Addison,  too,  that  stately,  polished  writer  of 
essays,  found  time  and  inclination  to  pay  poetic 
tribute  to  his  Maker.  There  is  no  poetry  more  ma 
jestic  than  the  hymns  beginning,  "When  All  Thy 
Mercies,  Oh,  My  God,"  and  "The  Spacious  Firma 
ment  on  High."  And  next  we  have  Heber,  the 
gifted  bishop  of  Calcutta,  the  Christian  gentleman, 


BILL    ABP.  289 

who  never  knew  a  want,  but,  nevertheless,  spent  his 
life  in  charity  and  missionary  work.  His  world-re 
nowned  hymn  would  have  immortalized  him,  if  he 
had  written  nothing  else. 

"From  Greenland's  Icy  Mountains, "  still  stands 
as  the  chief  of  all  missionary  hymns.  He  wrote 
others  of  exquisite  beauty,  such  as  "Brightest  and 
Best  of  the  Sons  of  the  Morning "  and  "By  Cool 
Siloam's  Shady  Rill." 

Then  there  were  many  other  composers  who  did 
not  write  much,  but  wrote  exceeding  well.  There  is : 

"How  Firm  a  Foundation,"  by  George  Keith; 
"Come,  ye  Disconsolate,"  by  Thomas  Moore,  the 
poet  laureate  of  England;  "Awake,  My  Soul,"  by 
Medley;  "Come  Thou  Fount  of  Every  Blessing," 
by  Robert  Eobinson. 

Rev.  Augustus  Toplady  has  several  beautiful 
hymns,  but  none  compare  with  his  "Rock  of  Ages 
Cleft  For  Me."  Sir  William  Gladstone,  the  great 
premier  of  England,  was  so  much  impressed  with 
this  hymn  that  he  has  translated  it  into  Latin  and 
other  languages.  Of  a  later  date  we  find,  "Nearer, 
My  God,  to  Thee,"  by  Mrs.  Adams,  an  English 
lady. 

The  oldest  hymn  in  the  book  was  written  by 
Thomas  Sternhold,  in  1549.  He  was  groom  to  Hen 
ry  VIII.  The  next  oldest  is  well  worth  remem 
brance,  for  it  was  written  in  1560  by  Thomas  Ken; 
and  has  but  one  verse,  and  that  verse  is  sung  oftener 
than  any  other  verse  in  the  world.  Its  first  line  is, 
"Praise  God  from  Whom  all  Blessing  Flow."  If 
Thomas  Ken  is  in  the  heavenly  choir  (and  we  be 
lieve  he  is),  what  serene  comfort  does  his  trans 
lated  soul  enjoy  as  it  listens  every  Sabbath  to  his 

(19) 


290  BILL   ARP. 

own  doxology  as  it  goes  up  from  a  million  voices 
and  swells  heavenward  from  thousands  of  organs 
all  over  Christendom! 

Then  we  have  hymns  from  Richard  Baxter,  who 
was  chaplain  to  Charles  II,  and  resisted  the  usurpa- 
iton  of  Cromwell. 

And  here  we  have  hymns  from  Mrs.  Charles,  the 
gifted  authortess  of  the  Schonberg  Cotta  stories, 
and  from  William  Cullen  Bryant,  our  own  poet 
laureate,  and  Francis  S.  Key,  the  author  of  the 
"Star  Spangled  Banner,"  and  from  Mrs.  Sigour- 
ney  and  John  Dryden,  another  poet  laureate  of 
England,  and  Henry  Kirk  White,  who  died  in  his 
twenty-first  year,  but  left  as  his  monument  "The 
Star  of  Bethlehem."  Here,  too,  is  the  litany  by 
Sir  Robert  Grant.  And  here  are  many  hymns  from 
Dr.  Muhlenberg,  who  wrote  "I  Would  Not  Live  Al 
ways.  ' ' 

And  now,  let  me  pause  to  remember  that  all  these 
men  and  women  are  dead.  Some  have  been  dead 
three  hundred  years,  some  two  hundred  and  very 
many  one  hundred,  and  some  far  less,  but  all  are 
dead.  But  poetry  outlives  prose,  and  a  song  out 
lives  a  sermon.  It  is  a  comforting  fact  that  most 
all  of  the  famous  poets  have  been  Christian  men 
and  women,  and  have  given  to  the  church  some  of 
their  sweetest  and  holiest  thoughts  in  song. 

Dr.  Oliver  W.  Holmes  and  John  G.  Whittier  are 
both  represented  in  this  collection. 

But  hymns  without  music  lose  half  their  beauty. 
They  are  like  birds  without  wings— they  cannot  fly 
heavenward. 

And  now  if  the  choir  and  congregation  will  enter 
into  the  spirit  of  these  beautiful  hymns  and  sing  them 


BILL   ARP.  291 

with  pure  religious  feeling,  it  will  be  acceptable 
praise.  A  song  without  inspiration  is  music,  but  it 
is  not  praise.  Professional  choirs  who  sing  for  pay 
seem  to  be  singing  for  men  and  not  for  God.  Such 
singing  is  like  the  funerals  that  have  hired  mourn 
ers.  When  the  tune  fits  the  sentiment  of  the  hymn, 
like  it  was  all  one  creation  of  genius,  it  greatly  en 
hances  the  beauty  of  both.  The  Coronation  Hymn 
would  not  be  half  so  popular  if  the  coronation  music 
were  not  set  to  it.  And  this  is  one  reason  why  the 
oratorios  of  the  great  masters,  such  as  Handel  and 
Mozart,  have  never  been  excelled.  They  composed 
both  the  sentiment  and  the  song. 


292  BILL   ARP. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


THE  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

The  earliest  fires  of  the  fall 

Have  brightened  up  the  room, 
The  cat  and  dog  and  children  all 

Have  bid  old  winter  come. 

The  wind  is  running  at  the  nose, 

The  clouds  are  in  a  shiver; 
By  day  we  want  more  warmer  clothes, 

At  night  we  want  more  kiver. 

When  a  farmer  lias  laid  by  his  crop  and  the  sea 
sons  have  been  kind  and  the  corn  and  cotton  are  ma 
turing,  and  the  sweet  potato  vines  have  covered  the 
ground,  what  an  innocent  luxury  it  is  to  set  in  the 
piazza  in  the  shade  of  evening  with  one's  feet  on 
the  banisters,  and  contemplate  the  beauty  and 
bounty  of  nature  and  the  hopeful  prospect  of  an 
other  year's  support.  It  looks  like  that  even  an  Ish- 
maelite  might  then  feel  calm  and  serene,  and  if  he 
is  still  ungrateful  for  his  abundant  blessings  he  is 
worse  than  a  heathen,  and  ought  to  be  run  out  of  a 
Christian's  country.  Every  year  brings  toil  and 
trouble  and  apprehension,  but  there  always  comes 
a  long  rest  and  peace  and  the  ripe  fruits  of  one's 
labors. 

Persimmons  and  'possums  are  getting  ripe.  The 
May-pops  have  dropped  from  the  vines.  Chestnuts 
and  chinkapins  are  opening,  and  walnuts  are  cov 
ering  the  ground.  Crawfish  and  frogs  have  gone 


BILL    ARP.  293 

into  winter  quarters— snakes  and  lizards  have  bid 
us  adieu.  All  nature  is  preparing  for  a  winter's 
sleep— sleep  for  the  trees,  and  grass  and  flowers.  I 
like  winter ;  not  six  long  months  of  snow  and  ice  and 
howling  winds,  but  three  months  interspersed  with 
sunny  days  and  Indian  summers.  The  Sunny  South 
is  the  place  for  me,  the  region  of  mild  and  temper 
ate  climate,  of  lofty  mountains  and  beautiful  val- 
lesy,  and  fast-flowing  streams.  The  region  where 
the  simoon  nor  the  hurricane  ever  comes,  and  the 
streams  do  not  become  stagnant,  nor  the  mosquito 
sing  his  little  song.  I  don't  want  to  be  snow 
bound  in  winter,  nor  to  fly  from  a  fiery  hurricane 
in  summer;  and  it's  curious  to  me  that  our  North 
ern  brethren  don't  bid  farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to 
such  a  country  and  settle  down  in  this  pleasant  land. 

' '  The  cricket  chirrups  on  the  hearths 
The  crackling  fagot  flies." 

The  air  is  cool  and  lovely.  The  family  have 
peartined  up,  and  everything  is  lovely  around  the 
farmer's  comfortable  fire.  How  invigorating  is  the 
first  chilling  breeze  of  coming  winter.  The  hun 
gry  horses  nicker  for  their  corn;  the  cattle  follow 
you  around ;  the  pesky  pigs  squall  at  your  feet,  and 
this  dependence  of  the  brutes  upon  us  for  their 
daily  food  makes  a  man  feel  his  consequence  as  he 
struts  among  them  like  a  little  king.  The  love  of 
dominion  is  very  natural.  It  provokes  a  kindliness 
of  heart,  and  if  a  man  hasn't  got  anything  else  to 
lord  it  over  it's  some  comfort  to  love  and  holler  at 
his  dog.  I've  seen  the  day  when  I  strutted  around 
among  my  darkies  like  a  patriarch.  I  felt  like  I  was 
running  an  unlimited  monarchy  on  a  limited  scale. 
And  Mrs.  Arp  felt  that  way  too.  Sometimes  in  my 


294  BILL   ARP. 

dreams  I  still  hear  the  music  of  her  familiar  call, 
" Becky,  why  don't  you  come  along  with  that  coal- 
hod?  "  "I'se  comin',  mam."  "Bosanna,  what  in 
the  world  are  you  doing;  havent  you  found  that 
needle  yet!"  "I'se  most  found  it,  mam."  Poor 
thing;  patient  and  proud,  she  hunts  her  own  nee 
dles  now,  and  the  coal-hod  falls  to  me. 

But  we  still  live,  thank  the  good  Lord,  and  are 
worrying  through  the  checkered  life  as  gracefully 
as  possible.  What's  the  use  of  brooding  over  trou 
ble  when  you  can't  help  it?  Sometimes,  when  a 
rainy  day  comes  and  all  out-doors  is  wet  and  sloppy, 
and  the  dogs  track  mud  in  the  piazza,  and  the  chil 
dren  have  to  be  penned  up  in  the  house,  and  every 
thing  is  gloomy,  we  get  sad  and  look  on  the  dark 
side,  and  long  for  things  we  havent  got.  When  the 
little  chaps  play  hide  and  seek  till  they  get  tired, 
and  shove  the  chairs  around  for  cars  and  engines, 
and  look  at  all  the  pictures,  and  cut  up  all  the  news 
papers,  and  turn  summersets  on  their  little  bed,  and 
then  get  restless  and  whine  around  for  freedom, 
Mrs.  Arp  opens  her  school  and  stands  'em  up  by  the 
buro  to  say  their  lessons. 

"Now  Carl,  let  me  see  if  you  can  say  your  psalm. 
Put  your  hands  down  and  hold  up  your  head." 

"The  Lord  is  my  shepherd.  I  shall  not  want.  He 
__he-he_" 

"Let  that  fly  alone,  and  put  your  hands  down. 
He  maketh  me  to  lie  down—" 

"He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures. 
He,  he-" 

"Quit  pulling  at  that  curtain.  He  leadeth  me—" 

"He  leadeth  me.  La,  mamma,  yonder  comes  a 
covered  wagon.  I  speck  it's  got  apples." 


BILL   ARP.  295 

"Carl,  stand  away  from  that  window.  If  I  take 
a  switch  to  you  I'll  make  you  look  after  apple 
wagons.  He  leadeth  me." 

"He  leadeth  me— in  the  house  of  the  Lord  for 
ever.  ' ' 

"Bless  my  soul,  if  he  hasn't  skipped  over  to  the 
very  end.  Where  are  you  going  now!" 

"Mamma,  I  want  a  drink  of  water— mamma, 
please  give  me  and  Jessie  an  apple. ' ' 

"No,  sir,  you  shan't  smell  of  an  apple.  Every 
time  I  try  to  teach  you  something  you  want  water, 
or  an  apple,  or  go  to  catching  flies.  I  wish  I  had 
that  switch  that's  up  on  the  clock." 

"I'll  get  it  for  you,"  said  I. 

"No  you  needent,  either.  Just  go  on  with  your 
writing.  I  wish  you  would  let  me  manage  the  chil 
dren.  All  the  learning  they  ever  get  I  have  to  ding 
dong  it  into  'em.  When  I  want  the  switch  I  can  get 
it.  Here,  Jessie,  come  and  say  your  verses." 

And  Jessie  goes  through  with  "Let  dogs  delight" 
like  a  daisy. 

Oh,  she's  as  smart  as  a  steel  trap— just  like  her 
mother.  I  wish  you  could  see  Mrs.  Arp's  smile 
when  some  other  woman  comes  along  and  norates 
the  smart  sayings  of  her  juvenile. 

"Ain't  it  strange,"  says  she  to  me,  "how  blinded 
most  mothers  are  about  their  children.  Mrs.  Trotter 
thinks  her  Julia  a  world's  wonder,  but  Jessie  says 
things  every  day  a  heap  smarter,  and  I  never 
thought  anything  about  it." 

"Jesso,"  says  I;  "children  are  shore  to  be  smart 
when  they  have  a  smart  mother.  Their  meanness 
all  comes  from  the  old  man." 

But  the  rainy  days  don't  last  forever.  Sunshine 
follows  cloud  and  storm  and  darkness.  In  the  jour- 


296  BILL    ARP. 

ney  of  life  the  mountains  loom  up  before  us,  and 
they  look  high  and  steep  and  rugged,  but  somehow 
they  always  disappear  just  before  we  get  to  them, 
and  then  we  can  look  back  and  feel  ashamed  that 
we  borrowed  so  much  trouble  and  had  so  much 
anxiety  for  nothing.  What  a  great  pile  of  miser 
able  fears  we  build  up  every  day.  It's  good  for  a 
man  to  ruminate  over  it  and  resolve  to  have  more 
faith  in  Providence,  and  I  am  ruminating  now,  for 
I  went  to  town  to-day  to  attend  a  little  court  that 
had  my  tenant's  cotton  money  all  tangled  up  by  the 
lawyers,  and  I  never  expected  to  get  my  share,  but 
I  did  and  I  feel  happy.  Mrs.  Arp  had  told  the  chil 
dren  she  would  like  to  go  and  do  some  shopping  for 
them,  but  she  knew  that  I  was  so  poor  and  they 
would  have  to  do  without. 

So  when  I  came  home  and  found  her  stitching 
away  with  a  sad  expression  on  her  countenance,  1 
pulled  out  the  twenty-two  dollars  of  cotton  money, 
and  assuming  a  pathetic  attitude  exclaimed: 

' '  Turn,  Angelina,  ever  dear, 
My  charmer,  turn  to  see 
Thine  own,  thy  long-lost  William  here, 
Bestored  to  Heaven  and  thee. " 

And  I  laid  the  shining  silver  in  her  lap.  In  about 
two  minutes  everything  was  calm  and  serene,  ana 
we  had  music  that  night  and  Mrs.  Arp  played  on  the 
piano  and  sang  some  of  the  songs  of  her  girlhood. 
It's  most  astounding  what  a  little  money  can  do. 


BILL    ARP.  297 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 


UNCLE  TOM  BARKER. 

Uncle  Tom  Barker  was  much  of  a  man.  He  had 
been  wild  and  reckless,  and  feared  not  God  nor  re 
garded  man,  but  one  day  at  a  campmeeting,  while 
Bishop  Gaston  was  shaking  up  the  sinners  and 
scorching  them  over  the  infernal  pit,  Tom  got 
alarmed,  and  before  the  meeting  was  over  he  pro 
fessed  religion  and  became  a  zealous,  outspoken  con 
vert,  and  declared  his  intention  of  going  forth  into 
the  world  and  preaching  the  gospel.  He  was  terribly 
in  earnest,  for  he  said  he  had  lost  a  power  of  time 
and  must  make  it  up.  Tom  was  a  rough  talker,  but 
he  was  a  good  one,  and  knew  right  smart  of  "scrip- 
ter, ' '  and  a  good  many  of  the  old-fashioned  hymns  by 
heart.  The  conference  thought  he  was  a  pretty  good 
fellow  to  send  out  into  the  border  country  among  the 
settlers,  and  so  Tom  straddled  his  old  flea-bitten 
gray,  and  in  due  time  was  circuit  riding  in  North 
Mississippi. 

In  course  of  time  Tom  acquired  notoriety,  and 
from  his  strong  language  and  stronger  gestures,  and 
his  muscular  eloquence,  they  called  him  old  ' '  Sledge 
Hammer, "  and  after  awhile,  "Old  Sledge,"  for 
short.  Away  down  in  one  corner  of  his  territory 
there  was  a  blacksmith  shop  and  a  wagon  shop  and 
a  whisky  shop  and  a  post-office  at  Bill  Jones 's  cross 
roads  ;  and  Bill  kept  all  of  them,  and  was  known  far 
and  wide  as  ' l  Devil  Bill  Jones, ' '  so  as  to  distinguish 
him  from  'Squire  Bill  the  magistrate.  Devil  Bill  had 


298  BILL   AKP. 

sworn  that  no  preacher  should  ever  toot  a  horn  or 
sing  a  hymn  in  the  settlement,  and  if  one  of  the 
cnssed  hypocrites  ever  dared  to  stop  at  the  cross 
roads,  he'd  make  him  dance  a  hornpipe  and  sing  a 
hymn,  and  whip  him  besides.  And  Bill  Jones  meant 
just  what  he  said,  for  he  had  a  mortal  hate  for  the 
men  of  God.  It  was  reasonably  supposed  that  Bill 
could  and  would  do  what  he  said,  for  his  trade  at 
the  anvil  had  made  him  strong,  and  everybody  knew 
that  he  had  as  much  brute  courage  as  was  necessary. 
And  so  Uncle  Tom  was  advised  to  take  roundance 
and  never  tackle  the  cross-roads.  He  accepted  this 
for  a  time,  and  left  the  people  to  the  bad  influence  of 
Devil  Bill ;  but  it  seemed  to  him  he  was  not  doing  the 
Lord's  will,  and  whenever  he  thought  of  the  women 
and  children  living  in  darkness  and  growing  up  in 
infidelity,  he  would  groan. 

One  night  he  prayed  over  it  with  great  earnest 
ness,  and  vowed  to  do  the  Lord's  will  if  the  Lord 
would  give  him  light,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  he  rose 
from  his  knees  that  there  was  no  longer  any  doubt- 
he  must  go.  Uncle  Tom  never  dallied  about  any 
thing  when  his  mind  was  made  up.  He  went  right 
at  it  like  killing  snakes;  and  so  next  morning  as  a 
"nabor"  passed  on  his  way  to  Bill's  shop,  Uncle 
Tom  said : 

"My  friend,  will  you  please  carry  a  message  to 
Bill  Jones  for  me  ?  Do  you  tell  him  that  if  the  Lord 
is  willin',  I  will  be  at  the  cross-roads  to  preach  next 
Saturday  at  eleven  o  'clock,  and  I  am  shore  the  Lord 
is  willin'.  Tell  him  to  please  'norate'  it  in  the  set 
tlement  about,  and  ax  the  women  and  children  to 
come.  Tell  Bill  Jones  I  will  stay  at  his  house,  God 
willin',  and  I'm  shore  he's  willin',  and  I'll  preach 
Sunday,  too,  if  things  git  along  harmonious." 


BILL   ARP.  299 

When  Bill  Jones  got  the  message  he  was  amazed, 
astounded,  and  his  indignation  knew  no  bounds.  He 
raved  and  cursed  at  the  "onsult,"  as  he  called  it— 
the  Consulting  message  of  ' Old  Sledge'  "— and  he 
swore  that  he  would  hunt  him  up,  and  whip  him, 
for  he  knowed  that  he  wouldn't  dare  to  come  to  the 
cross-roads. 

But  the  "nabors"  whispered  it  around  that  "Old 
Sledge "  would  come,  for  he  was  never  known  to 
make  an  appointment  and  break  it;  and  there  was 
an  old  horse  thief  who  used  to  run  with  MurrePs 
gang,  who  said  he  used  to  know  Tom  Barker  when 
he  was  a  sinner  and  had  seen  him  fight,  and  he  was 
much  of  a  man. 

So  it  spread  like  wild-fire  that  "Old  Sledge"  was 
coming,  and  Devil  Bill  was  "gwine"  to  whip  him 
and  make  him  dance  and  sing  a  "hime,"  and  treat 
to  a  gallon  of  peach  and  brandy  besides. 

Devil  Bill  had  his  enemies,  of  course,  for  he  was 
a  hard  man,  and  one  way  or  another  had  gobbled  up 
all  the  surplus  of  the  "naborhood,"  and  had  given 
nothing  in  exchange  but  whiskey,  and  these  enemies 
had  long  hoped  for  somebody  to  come  and  turn  him 
down.  They,  too,  circulated  the  astounding  news, 
and,  without  committing  themselves  to  either  party, 
said  that  h— 11  would  break  loose  on  Saturday  at  the 
cross-roads,  and  that  "Old  Sledge"  or  the  devil 
would  have  to  go  under. 

On  Friday  the  settlers  began  to  drop  into  the 
cross-roads  under  pretense  of  business,  but  really  to 
get  the  bottom  facts  of  the  rumors  that  were  afloat. 

Devil  Bill  knew  full  well  what  they  came  for,  and 
he  talked  and  cursed  more  furiously  than  usual,  and 
swore  that  anybody  who  would  come  expecting  to 


300  BILL    AKP. 

see  "Old  Sledge "  tomorrow  was  an  infernal  fool, 
for  he  wasn't  a-coming.  He  laid  bare  Ms  strong 
arms  and  shook  his  long  hair  and  said  he  wished  the 
lying,  deceiving  hypocrite  would  come,  for  it  had 
been  nigh  onto  fourteen  years  since  he  had  made  a 
preacher  dance. 

Saturday  morning  by  nine  o'clock  the  settlers  be 
gan  to  gather.  They  came  on  foot,  and  on  horse 
back,  and  in  carts— men,  women  and  children,  and 
before  eleven  o'clock  there  were  more  people  at  the 
crossroads  than  had  ever  been  there  before.  Bill 
Jones  was  mad  at  their  credulity,  but  he  had  an  eye 
to  business  and  kept  behind  his  counter  and  sold 
more  whiskey  in  an  hour  than  he  had  sold  in  a 
month.  As  the  appointed  hour  drew  near  the  set 
tlers  began  to  look  down  the  long,  straight  road  that 
"Old  Sledge"  would  come,  if  he  came  at  all,  and 
every  man  whose  head  came  in  sight  just  over  the 
rise  of  the  distant  hill  was  closely  scrutinized. 

More  than  once  they  said,  "Yonder  he  comes— 
that's  him,  shore."  But  no,  it  wasn't  him. 

Some  half  a  dozen  had  old  bull's-eye  silver  watch 
es,  and  they  compared  time,  and  just  at  10:55 
o'clock  the  old  horse  thief  exclaimed: 

"I  see  Tom  Barker  a  risin'  of  the  hill.  I  hain't 
seed  him  for  eleven  years,  but,  gintlemen,  that  ar's 
him,  or  I  'm  a  liar. ' ' 

And  it  was  him. 

As  he  got  nearer  and  nearer,  a  voice  seemed  to  be 
coming  with  him,  and  some  said,  "He's  talkin'  to 
himself,"  another  said,  "He's  talkin'  to  G-od  Al 
mighty,"  and  another  said,  "I'll  be  durned  if  he 
ain't  a  praying;"  but  very  soon  it  was  decided  that 
he  was  "singin'  of  a  hime." 


BILL    ARP.  301 

Bill  Jones  was  advised  of  all  this,  and  coming  up 
the  front,  said:  "Darned  if  he  ain't  singing  before 
I  axed  him,  but  I'll  make  him  sing  another  tune 
until  he  is  tired.  I'll  pay  him  for  his  onsulting  mes 
sage.  I'm  not  a-gwine  to  kill  him,  boys.  I'll  leave 
life  in  his  rotton  old  carcass,  but  that's  all.  If  any 
of  you 'ens  want  to  hear  'Old  Sledge'  preach,  you'll 
have  to  go  ten  miles  from  the  road  to  do  it." 

Slowly  and  solemnly  the  preacher  came.  As  he 
drew  near  he  narrowed  down  his  tune  and  looked 
kindly  upon  the  crowd.  He  was  a  massive  man  in 
frame,  and  had  a  heavy  suit  of  dark  brown  hair,  but 
his  face  was  clean  shaved,  and  showed  a  nose  and 
lips  and  chin  of  great  firmness  and  great  determi 
nation. 

' '  Look  at  him,  boys,  and  mind  your  eye, ' '  said  the 
horse  thief. 

"Where  will  I  find  my  friend,  Bill  Jones?"  in 
quired  "Old  Sledge." 

All  round  they  pointed  him  to  the  man. 

Riding  up  close,  he  said:  "My  friend  and  broth 
er,  the  good  Lord  has  sent  me  to  you,  and  I  ask 
your  hospitality  for  myself  and  beast, ' '  and  he  slow 
ly  dismounted  and  faced  his  foe  as  though  expecting 
a  kind  reply. 

The  crisis  had  come,  and  Bill  Jones  met  it. 

"You  infernal  old  hypocrite;  you  cussed  old 
shaved-f aced  scoundrel ;  didn  't  you  know  that  I  had 
swored  an  oath  that  I  would  make  you  sing  and 
dance,  and  whip  you  besides  if  you  ever  dared  to 
pizen  these  cross-roads  with  your  shoe-tracks?" 
Now,  sing,  d— n  you,  sing,  and  dance  as  you  sing," 
and  he  emphasized  his  command  with  a  ringing  slap 
with  his  open  hand  upon  the  parson's  face. 


302  BILL   AKP. 

"Old  Sledge "  recoiled  with  pain  and  surprise. 

Eecovering  in  a  moment,  he  said: 

"Well,  Brother  Jones,  I  did  not  expect  so  warm  a 
welcome,  but  if  this  be  your  crossroads  manners,  I 
suppose  I  must  sing;"  and  as  Devil  Bill  gave  him 
another  slap  on  his  other  jaw,  he  began  with: 

"My  soul,  be  on  thy  guard." 

And  with  his  long  arm  he  suddenly  and  swiftly 
gave  Devil  Bill  an  open  hander  that  nearly  knocked 
him  off  his  feet,  while  the  parson  continued  to  sing 
in  a  splendid  tenor  voice: 

"Ten  thousand  foes  arise." 

Never  was  a  lion  more  aroused  to  frenzy  than 
was  Bill  Jones.  With  his  powerful  arm  he  made  at 
1  i  Old  Sledge ' '  as  if  to  annihilate  him  with  one  blow, 
and  many  horrid  oaths,  but  the  parson  fended  off 
the  stroke  as  easily  as  a  practised  boxer,  and  with 
his  left  hand  dealt  Bill  a  settler  on  his  peepers,  as 
he  continued  to  sing : 

"Oh,  watch,  and  fight,  and  pray, 
The  battle  ne'er  give  o'er." 

But  Jones  was  plucky  to  desperation,  and  the  set 
tlers  were  watching  with  bated  breath.  The  crisis 
was  at  hand,  and  he  squared  himself  and  his 
clenched  fists  flew  thick  and  fast  upon  the  parson's 
frame,  and  for  awhile  disturbed  his  equilibrium  and 
his  song.  But  he  rallied  quickly  and  began  the  de 
fensive,  as  he  sang : 

"Ne'er  think  the  victory  won, 
Nor  lay  thine  armor  down—" 


BILL   ARP.  303 

He  backed  his  adversary  squarely  to  the  wall  of 
his  shop,  and  seized  him  by  the  throat,  and  mauled 
him  as  he  sang: 

"Fight  on,  my  soul,  till  death — " 

Well,  the  long  and  short  of  it  was,  that  "Old 
Sledge "  whipped  him  and  humbled  him  to  the 
ground,  and  then  lifted  him  up  and  helped  to  re 
store  him,  and  begged  a  thousand  pardons. 

When  Devil  Bill  had  retired  to  his  house  and  was 
being  cared  for  by  his  wife,  ' l  Old  Sledge ' '  mounted 
a  box  in  front  of  the  grocery  and  preached  right 
eousness  and  temperance,  and  judgment  to  come,  to 
that  people. 

He  closed  his  solemn  discourse  with  a  brief  his 
tory  of  his  own  sinful  life  before  his  conversion  and 
his  humble  work  for  the  Lord  ever  since,  and  he  be 
sought  his  hearers  to  stop  and  think— "  Stop,  poor 
sinner,  stop  and  think,"  he  cried  in  alarming  tones. 

There  were  a  few  men  and  many  women  in  that 
crowd  whose  eyes,  long  unused  to  the  melting  mood, 
dropped  tears  of  repentance  at  the  preacher's  kind 
and  tender  exhortation.  Bill  Jones 's  wife,  poor  wo 
man,  had  crept  humbly  into  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd,  for  she  had  long  treasured  the  memories  of 
her  childhood,  when  she,  too,  had  gone  with  her 
good  mother  to  hear  preaching.  In  secret  she  had 
pined  and  lamented  her  husband's  hatred  for  reli 
gion  and  preachers.  After  she  had  washed  the  blood 
from  his  swollen  face  and  dressed  his  wounds  she 
asked  him  if  she  might  go  down  and  hear  the 
preacher.  For  a  minute  he  was  silent  and  seemed 
to  be  dumb  with  amazement.  He  had  never  been 
whipped  before  and  had  suddenly  lost  confidence  in 
himself  and  his  infidelity. 


304  BILL    ARF. 

"Go  'long,  Sally,"  he  answered,  "if  he  can  talk 
like  he  can  fight  and  sing,  maybe  the  Lord  did  send 
him.  It 's  all  mighty  strange  to  me, ' '  and  he  groaned 
in  anguish.  His  animosity  seemed  to  have  changed 
into  an  anxious,  wondering  curiosity,  and  after 
Sally  had  gone,  he  left  his  bed  and  drew  near  to  the 
window  where  he  could  hear. 

"Old  Sledge"  made  an  earnest,  soul-reaching 
prayer,  and  his  pleading  with  the  Lord  for  Bill 
Jones's  salvation  and  that  of  his  wife  and  children 
reached  the  window  where  Bill  was  sitting,  and  he 
heard  it.  His  wife  returned  in  tears  and  took  a 
seat  beside  him,  and  sobbed  out  her  heart's  distress, 
but  said  nothing.  Bill  bore  it  for  awhile  in  thoughtful 
said  nothing.  Bill  bore  it  for  awhile  in  thoughtful 
silence,  and  then  putting  his  bruised  and  trembling 
hand  in  hers,  said:  "Sally,  if  the  Lord  sent  'Old 
Sledge'  here,  and  maybe  he  did,  I  reckon  you  had 
better  look  after  his  horse."  And  sure  enough  'Old 
Sledge"  stayed  there  that  night  and  held  family 
prayer,  and  the  next  day  he  preached  from  the 
piazza  to  a  great  multitude,  and  sang  his  favorite 
hymn : 

"Am  I  a  soldier  of  the  Cross?" 

And  when  he  got  to  the  third  verse  his  untutored 
but  musical  voice  seemed  to  be  lifted  a  little  higher 
as  he  sang: 

"Sure  I  must  fight  if  I  would  reign, 
Increase  my  courage,  Lord. ' ; 

Devil  Bill  was  converted  and  became  a  changed 
man.  He  joined  the  church,  and  closed  his  grocery 
and  helped  to  build  a  meeting  house,  and  it  was  al 
ways  said  and  believed  that  "Old  Sledge"  mauled 
the  grace  into  his  unbelieving  soul,  and  it  never 
would  have  got  in  any  other  way. 


BILL   ARP.  305 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


BILL  ARP  ON  JOSH  BILLINGS. 

Josh  Billings  is  dead,  and  the  world  will  miss  him. 
He  was  a  success  in  his  way,  and  it  was  not  a  bad 
way.  He  did  no  harm.  He  did  much  good,  for  he 
gave  a  passing  pleasure  and  gave  it  frequently,  and 
left  the  odor  of  good  precepts  that  lingered  with  us. 
He  was  Aesop  and  Ben  Franklin,  condensed  and 
abridged.  His  quaint  phonetic  spelling  spiced  his 
maxims  and  proverbs,  and  made  them  attractive.  It 
is  curious  how  we  are  attracted  by  the  wise,  pithy 
sayings  of  an  unlettered  man.  It  is  the  contrast  be 
tween  his  mind  and  his  culture.  We  like  contrasts 
and  we  like  metaphors  and  striking  comparisons. 
The  more  they  are  according  to  nature  and  everyday 
life,  the  better  they  please  the  masses.  The  cultured 
scholar  will  try  to  impress  by  saying  "facilis  decen- 
sus  averni."  but  Billings  brings  the  same  idea  nearer 
home  when  he  says,  "When  a  man  starts  down  hill, 
it  looks  like  everything  is  greased  for  the  occasion." 
We  can  almost  see  the  fellow  sliding  down.  It  is  an 
old  thought  that  has  been  dressed  up  fine  for  centur 
ies,  and  suddenly  appears  in  everyday  clothes.  Wise 
men  tell  us  that  the  people  do  not  think  for  them 
selves,  but  follow  their  leaders  in  politics  and  reli 
gion.  That  is  true,  and  it  is  tame  and  old.  But  when 
I  asked  the  original  Bill  Arp  how  he  was  going  to 
vote  he  said  he  couldn't  tell  me  until  he  saw  Colonel 
Johnson,  and  Colonel  Johnson  wouldn't  know  until 

(20) 


306  BILL   AKP. 

he  talked  to  Judge  Underwood,  and  Judge  Under 
wood  wouldn't  know  until  he  heard  from  Aleck 
Stephens.  "But  who  tells  Aleck  Stephens  how  to 
vote !' '  " I'll  be  dogged  if  I  know. ' '  Well,  that  was 
the  same  old  truth,  but  it  was  undressed,  and  there 
fore  more  forcible.  The  philosophic  theory  has  come 
down  to  a  homely  fact. 

Some  years  ago  I  met  Mr.  Shaw  in  New  York,  at 
Carleton's  book  store.  I  did  not  know  that  he  was 
Josh  Billings.  In  fact  I  had  forgotten  Billings'  real 
name,  and  I  thought  this  man  was  a  Methodist 
preacher.  He  looked  like  one,  a  very  solemn  one. 
His  long  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle  and  silvered 
with  gray.  His  face  was  heavily  bearded,  his  eyes 
well  set  and  his  mouth  drooped  at  the  corners.  We 
sat  facing  each  other  for  a  few  moments,  when  sud 
denly  he  leaned  forward  and  said:  "Friend  Arp, 
say  something. "  I  knew  then  that  Mr.  Carleton  had 
surprised  me  and  that  this  was  Billings,  for  he  had 
told  me  that  his  friend  Billings  was  going  to  call.  We 
soon  got  friendly  and  familiar,  and  suddenly  he  in 
quired,  "How  is  my  friend,  Big  John?"  "Dead," 
said  I.  "And  how  is  that  faithful  steer?"  said  he. 
"Dead,"  I  replied.  With  a  mock  sorrow  he  wiped 
his  eyes  and  remarked,  "Hence  these  tears." 
(Steers.) 

While  we  were  talking,  a  lad  of  the  house  came 
back  and  said  there  was  a  man  in  a  balloon  and  we 
could  see  him  from  the  front.  We  all  went  forward 
and  we  watched  the  daring  aeronaut  soar  away  un'il 
he  was  out  of  sight,  and  we  took  seats  near  the  door. 
Billings  heaved  a  sigh  and  said,  "I  feel  very  bad, 
my  friends.  That  sight  distresses  me."  We  asked 
him  why,  and  he  said,  "It  carries  me  back  to  the 
scenes  of  my  early  youth,  and  reminds  me  of  a  sad 


BILL    AKP.  307 

event. ' '  We  waited  a  moment  for  him  to  recover 
from  his  depression,  and  he  said:  "I  was  an  in 
dolent,  trifling  boy.  I  wouldn't  work  and  I  wouldn't 
study  at  school.  I  had  a  longing  to  get  away  from 
home  and  go  West.  Most  everybody  was  going 
West,  and  so  one  morning  my  father  said  to  me: 
'Henry,  I  reckon  you  had  better  go.  You  are  not 
doing  any  good  here.'  And  so  he  gave  me  ten  dol 
lars  and  a  whole  lot  of  advice,  and  my  mother  fixed 
me  up  a  little  bundle  of  clothes  and  I  started.  That 
money  lasted  me  until  I  got  away  out  to  Illinois,  for 
I  worked  a  little  along  the  way  to  pay  for  lodging 
and  vittels,  but  at  last  it  was  all  gone,  and  my  shoes 
were  worn  out,  and  when  I  got  to  a  little  village  one 
afternoon  I  was  homesick  and  friendless,  and  I 
didn't  know  what  to  do  next.  I  noticed  that  the  peo 
ple  were  all  going  one  way,  and  they  told  me  they 
were  going  out  to  the  suburbs  to  see  a  man  go  up  in 
a  balloon.  So  I  followed  the  crowd,  and  when  I  got 
there  I  saw  a  dirty  little  Italian  sitting  down  on  an 
old,  dingy  balloon,  and  there  was  a  fellow  going 
around  with  a  hat  in  his  hand  trying  to  make  up  ten 
dollars.  The  little  Italian  said  he  would  go  up  for 
that  money.  But  the  fellow  couldn't  make  it.  He 
counted  the  money  and  had  only  six  dollars  and  a 
half,  and  so  he  gave  it  up,  and  was  about  to  give  the 
money  back  when  I  thought  I  saw  my  opportunity. 
I  was  sorry  for  the  Italian  and  sorry  for  myself, 
and  so  I  whispered  to  to  him  and  asked  him  if  he 
would  give  me  all  over  ten  dollars  that  I  could 
make  up  and  he  said  "Yes,  all  over  eight  dollars.' 
Well,  I  had  the  gift  of  speech  pretty  lively,  and  I 
went  round  and  round  among  the  folks  and  told 
them  how  this  poor,  little,  sunburnt  son  of  Italy 


308  BILL    AKP. 

came  three  thousand  miles  from  his  home  to  min 
ister  to  their  pleasure  and  put  his  life  in  peril,  and  it 
was  a  shame  that  we  couldn't  make  him  up  the  piti 
ful  sum  of  ten  dollars.  I  soon  got  the  crowd  in  a 
good  humor,  and  in  about  five  minutes  I  had  made 
up  eighteen  dollars.  I  felt  proud  and  happy,  and 
said:  "Now,  my  friend,  fire  up,'  and  I  helped  him 
to  fire  up.  The  old  balloon  was  patched  and  leaky, 
and  I  thought  it  would  burst  before  we  got  ready, 
for  we  piled  the  gas  in  heavy.  Before  long  the  lit 
tle  chap  was  in  the  basket,  and  we  cut  the  ropes  and 
away  she  went.  It  was  a  calm,  still  day  in  June— 
not  a  breath  of  air  to  drift  the  balloon  from  a  per 
pendicular.  Up,  up,  she  went,  growing  smaller  and 
smaller,  until  finally  she  was  but  a  tiny  speck  in  the 
zenith.  We  nearly  broke  our  necks  looking  at  it, 
and  sure  enough  in  a  few  minutes  more  she  was 
gone.  Not  a  spy-glass  could  find  it.  We  watched 
all  the  evening  for  the  little  fellow  to  come  back  in 
sight,  but  he  never  came.  The  shades  of  night 
came  over  us,  but  no  Italian.  The  crowd  dispersed 
one  by  one  until  all  were  gone  but  me,  for  I  was  his 
friend  and  treasurer,  you  know.  Next  morning  he 
was  still  missing,  and  all  that  day  we  made  inquiries 
from  the  surrounding  country,  but  no  Italian  and 
no  balloon,  and  from  that  day  to  this  good  hour  he 
has  never  been  heard  from.  I  have  felt  a  heavy 
weight  of  responsibility  about  him,  for  fear  I  put  in 
too  much  gas.  My  hope  is  that  he  went  dead  straight 
to  heaven.  I  have  his  money  in  my  bank,  and  it  is 
drawing  interest." 

And  Josh  wiped  away  another  pretended  tear  of 
grief. 

He  was  a  companionable  man  and  talked  without 
a  strain.    When  he  visited  our  little  city  of   Borne 


BILL   AKP.  309 

our  people  gave  him  a  glad  welcome,  for  he  had 
been  long  ministering  to  their  pleasure,  and  in  all 
his  great  and  curious  utterances  he  had  never  writ 
ten  a  line  that  showed  prejudice  or  malignity  to  our 
people  or  our  section. 
Peace  be  to  his  ashes  and  honor  to  his  memory. 


310  BILL   AKP. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


THE  CODE  DUELLO. 

They  are  the  funniest  things— these  duels.  They 
are  both  funny  and  fantastic.  They  beat  a  circus— 
that  is  to  say  the  newspaper  pictures  of  them  beat 
the  circus  pictures,  and  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  the  antics  of  the  performers  are  more  ludicrous 
than  the  clown  and  the  monkeys  and  the  trick  horse 
combined.  I  would  like  to  be  up  in  a  tree  and  see 
a  duel— no  I  wouldent  either.  It  would  be  safer  to 
be  in  front  of  one  of  the  performers.  Sometimes  I 
think  that  these  little  affairs  of  honor  are  just  got 
ten  up  to  amuse  the  public,  and  they  are  a  success  in 
that  way.  They  beat  Sullivan  and  Kilrain  in  the 
wind  up,  and  the  only  objection  is  we  don't  know 
about  it  until  the  show  is  all  over.  We  don't  have 
a  chance  to  take  sides  and  bet  on  anybody,  and  if  we 
did  we  wouldent  win  or  lose,  for  it  is  always  a  draw 
—nobody  hurt,  wonderful  pluck,  amazing  heroism, 
magnanimous  conduct,  noble  bearing,  amicable  ad 
justment,  but  nobody  hurt;  that's  what's  the  mat 
ter.  When  it  leaks  out  that  a  great  show  is  coming, 
the  people  want  it  to  come.  If  a  hanging  is  adver 
tised,  it  is  an  outrage  if  somebody  don't  hang.  If  a 
duel  has  to  be  fought  to  preserve  honor,  the  public 
want  some  blood.  Honor  or  death,  honor  or  crip 
pled,  honor  or  hit  somewhere.  But  this  widespread- 
ing  around  and  fixing  up  the  thing  on  a  wood-pile, 
or,  "I'll  retreat  if  you'll  retreat,"  or,  "I  dident 


BILL   ARP.  311 

mean  what  you  thought  I  meant,"  don't  satisfy  the 
public. 

Some  years  ago  one  of  our  notable  men  called 
another  of  our  notable  men  a  thief  and  he  got  chal 
lenged  for  it,  and  we  thought  there  was  blood  on  the 
moon,  but  mutual  friends  interposed  and  he  re 
tracted  by  saying  he  dident  mean  that  he  was  a  per 
sonal  thief,  but  an  official  thief,  and  that  was  satis 
factory  and  the  affair  was  honorably  adjusted. 

When  an  affair  of  honor  is  settled  nowadays  we 
cant  find  out  who  whipped  the  fight— who  was 
right  and  who  was  wrong.  The  whole  matter  is  left 
so  nystified  that  the  stakeholders  won't  pay  the 
mon5y.  In  fact  it  is  sometimes  hard  to  tell  from  the 
newspapers  who  were  doing  the  fighting,  the  prin 
ciples  or  the  seconds,  or  an  amateur  performer  who 
recklessly  rushed  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread. 

"The  combat  thickens — on  ye  brave, 
Who  rush  to  glory  or  the  grave." 

Avful  scene— terrific  beyond  expression.  It  re 
minds  me  of  a  little  Frenchman  who  was  prancing 
arouid  the  hotel  in  St.  Louis  and  had  a  little  impu 
dent  terrier  dog  following  him  about.  The  dog  gave 
just  ;ause  of  offense  to  a  big  whiskered  Kentuckian 
who  was  talking  to  a  friend,  and  with  a  sudden 
swin^  of  his  boot  he  sent  the  animal  a  rod  or  two 
out  ii  the  street.  Quick  as  lightning  the  Frenchman 
daned  up  to  Kentuck,  and  with  violent  gesticula 
tions  exclaimed :  ' '  Vat  for  you  keek  mon  leetle  tog  1 
Vot  .?or,  me  say  1  Here  is  mine  card.  I  demand  de 
sate«sfacsheon  of  de  shenteel  mon."  The  Ken- 
tuckan  seized  him  gently  by  the  nap  of  the  neck  and 
liftd  him  bodily  to  the  door  and  gave  him  a  kick 


312  BILL    ARP. 

outward,  and  then  walked  back  and  resumed  his 
conversation. 

The  Frenchman  spied  an  acquaintance  who  was 
passing,  and  rushing  up  to  him  poured  out  this  his 
tory:  "Vot  you  call  des  American  honeur.  He 
keek  mon  leetle  tog  and  I  geeve  heem  mine  card  and 
demond  de  sateesfacshun  of  de  genteelhomme,  de 
sateesfacshun  of  de  sword  or  de  peestole— dear  to 
de  Frenchman's  heart.  You  tinks  he  geeve  him  to 
me.  No  saree— no  time,  but  mon  Dieu,  he  leef  me 
up  by  de  collare— he  speen  me  round  and  roun  like 
I  vas  von  torn  top  and  keek  me  more  harder  than  de 
leetle  tog.  Vot  you  calls  dot,  American  horenr? 
Bah !  I  go  pack  to  La  Belle  France  and  hoonf s  up 
some  American  and  fights  him.  I  will  have  de  katis- 
f  acshun— begor. ' ' 

If  retractions  are  to  be  made  they  should  b4  very 
explicit.  It  is  related  of  John  Eandolph  that  be  ex 
pressed  his  contempt  of  a  man  by  saying  of  hhji  that 
he  wasn't  fit  to  carry— offal  to  a  bear.  A  rckraxit 
was  demanded  or  a  fight,  and  he  promptlk  re 
sponded  that  he  would  now  say  that  the  gentleman 


was  fit  to  carry— offal  to  a  bear.    This  proved 
factory  and  goes  to  show  how  small  a  retrax\ 


satis- 
will 


satisfy  wounded  honor.  But  it  seems  to  be  a  natter 
of  great  nicety  as  to  the  time  when  the  retraxii  shall 
be  made.  Among  all  gentlemen  it  is  admitted  that 
an  apology  should  be  made  just  as  soon  as  th«  gen 
tleman  has  discovered  that  he  has  done  anothel  gen 
tleman  an  injury  or  has,  without  just  cause,  wj>und- 
ed  his  feelings;  but  these  mysterious  affairs  o| hon 
or  are  very  slow  about  such  things,  and  the 
retraxits  are  not  allowed  to  be  made  until  a  chal 
lenge  has  passed  and  the  seconds  chosen  and  th<  pis 
tols  loaded  and  everything  got  in  readiness  for  a 


BILL    ABP.  313 

fight.  Then  the  retraxit  is  in  order  and  the  honor 
able  adjustment.  The  whole  thing  is  methodical, 
to  say  the  least  of  it.  It  is  like  a  bill  in  equity  that 
has  nine  parts,  and  there  is  the  accusation  and  the 
rejoinder  and  the  surrejoinder  and  other  mysteries. 
The  fact  is,  considering  the  funny  and  fantastic  and 
harmless  character  of  most  of  the  modern  duels,  I 
think  that  justice's  court  would  be  the  best  tribunal 
wherein  to  settle  such  matters.  The  first  case  I  ever 
had  was  a  case  in  justice  court,  where  I  was  em 
ployed  to  defend  a  man  who  was  sued  for  thirty  dol 
lars  worth  of  slander  because  he  had  accused  his 
nabor  of  stealing  his  hog  and  changing  the  mark 
from  an  underbit  in  the  right  ear  to  a  swallow  fork 
in  the  left.  After  the  joinder  and  the  rejoinder  and 
the  surrejoinder  the  jury  retired  to  a  log  and  event 
ually  brought  in  this  verdict:  "We,  the  jury,  find 
for  the  plaintiff  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  unless 
the  defendant  will  take  back  what  he  said. ' '  I  have 
always  thought  that  was  a  just  verdict,  and  if  ever 
any  fool  sends  me  a  challenge  I  shall  propose  to 
leave  the  matter  to  a  jury  in  a  justice  court.  They 
always  give  a  man  a  chance  without  his  having  to 
practice  with  pistols  on  a  tree.  It  is  a  strange  thing 
how  a  man  can  hit  the  bull 's  eye  on  a  tree  every  pop 
but  can't  hit  a  man  one  time  in  five,  and  yet  be  per 
fectly  cool  and  calm  and  serene  all  the  time. 

The  books  say  that  duelling  originated  in  the 
superstitious  ages  when  it  was  believed  that  the 
fates  or  the  gods  were  on  the  side  of  truth  and  jus 
tice,  and  always  avenged  the  man  who  had  been 
wronged.  The  philosophers  declared  that  there  was 
a  mysterious  connection  between  honor  and  courage 
and  between  courage  and  the  nervous  system,  and 


314  BILL    AEP. 

that  when  a  man  was  in  the  wrong  his  courage 
wavered,  and  his  nerves  became  unsteady,  and  so 
he  couldn't  fight  to  advantage  and  was  easily  over 
come  by  his  adversary.  There  may  be  something  in 
this,  but  not  a  great  deal,  for  we  do  know  that  the 
professional  duelist  is  generally  in  the  wrong  and 
generally  whips  the  fight.  In  fact,  the  wrong  man 
has  most  generally  been  killed  in  all  the  fatal  duels 
of  modern  times.  During  the  past  century  duelling 
has  had  its  chief  support  from  the  army  and  the 
navy,  where  chivalry  seems  to  have  centered.  They 
talk  about  chivalry  as  though  they  belonged  to  some 
knightly  order  like  unto  the  olden  times  when  Don 
Quixote  mounted  his  flea-bitten  gray  and  sallied 
forth  and  charged  a  windmill  with  a  lance  about 
twenty  feet  long.  The  word  chivalry  comes  from 
' l  cheval, ' '  a  horse,  and  so  if  a  man  was  not  mounted 
there  was  no  chance  to  be  chivalrous.  A  seat  in  a 
buggy  won't  do  at  all.  It  won't  churn  up  heroism 
like  the  canter  of  a  horse.  That  was  called  the 
"fantastic  age  of  famished  honor,"  for  honor  was 
said  to  be  always  hungry  for  a  fight  with  somebody, 
and  the  knights  started  out  periodically  to  provoke 
difficulties.  Happy  for  us  that  this  age  has  passed 
away  and  the  knights  are  unhorsed,  but  unhappily 
for  us,  like  the  comet,  a  portion  of  its  tail  still  lin 
gers  in  the  land,  and  ever  and  anon  some  valiant 
knight  shows  up  and  strikes  his  breast  and  ex 
claims:  "Mine  honor,  sir,  mine  honor!"  Eight 
then  I  want  to  rush  to  his  relief  and  give  him  a 
sharpened  pole  and  mount  him  on  some  "Bosi- 
nante ' '  and  escort  him  to  one  of  these  modern  wind 
mills  that  are  built  to  pump  water  and  tell  him  to 
charge  it  until  his  honor  is  satisfied.  Most  of  these 


BILL    ARP.  315 

chivalric  gentlemen  have  a  very  vague,  indefinite 
idea  of  what  honor  is  and  where  it  is  located.  Hudi- 
bras  throws  some  light  upon  the  seat  of  honor  when 
he  tells  of  a  man  who  was  "kicked  in  the  place 
where  honor  is  lodged, ' '  and  he  says : 

"A  kick  right  there  hurts  honor  more 
Than  deeper  wounds  when  kicked  before. ' ' 

This  locates  honor  in  the  background,  where  we 
will  leave  it. 

Honor  is  like  the  chameleon.  It  takes  any  color 
that  suits  its  surroundings.  Aaron  Burr  challenged 
Hamilton  in  order  to  preserve  his  honor,  and  yet  he 
was  a  traitor,  an  enemy  of  Washington,  a  libertine, 
and  boasted  of  his  amours  and  his  intrigues.  If  a 
man  is  going  to  fight  for  his  honor  he  should  be  sure 
that  he  has  not  tarnished  it  by  his  own  dishonorable 
conduct.  If  a  man  is  a  thief  or  a  swindler  or  an  ex 
tortioner  or  a  libertine  or  a  blackmailer,  he  has  no 
right  to  challenge  a  man  for  calling  him  a  liar.  Hon 
or  is  a  very  broad  quality  and  does  not  split  up  in 
parts.  It  makes  up  the  complete  gentleman  in  all 
his  conduct;  though  a  man  may  not  have  told  a  lie, 
yet  he  may  have  no  honor  to  defend,  for  he  had  lost 
it  all  in  other  vices.  When  a  man  can  look  his  fel 
low  men  in  the  face  and  say,  "Whom  have  I  de 
frauded  or  whom  have  I  wronged  or  from  whom 
have  I  taken  a  bribe?"  then  let  him  fight  for  his 
honor  if  he  wants  to. 

But  the  average  man  who  has  made  his  money  by 
ways  that  are  dark  and  tricks  that  are  vain,  or  who 
has  used  deceit,  dishonesty,  hypocrisy  or  oppres 
sion  in  gaining  his  ends,  has  no  right  to  send  or  ac 
cept  a  challenge  to  mortal  combat.  He  must  stand 
fair  and  square  before  the  people  if  he  expects  their 


316  BILL 

sympathy.  If  he  fights  of  course  it  is  out  of  respect 
to  public  opinion,  for  no  two  men  would  fight  if  they 
were  on  an  island  by  themselves.  And  this  proves 
the  duelist  a  coward,  the  worst  kind  of  a  coward, 
for  he  has  more  regard  for  public  opinion  that  he 
has  for  himself  or  his  family  or  his  friends  or  his 
Maker.  He  knows  that  a  duel  proves  nothing  and 
settles  nothing,  and  yet  he  deliberately  lets  public 
opinion  outweigh  his  wife  and  his  children,  and 
worse  than  all  he  puts  his  soul  in  reach  of  the  devil. 
From  every  moral  standpoint  he  is  a  fool  and  a 
coward  and  could  be  convicted  of  lunacy  in  any 
court,  and  ought  to  be.  Lord,  help  us  all— when 
will  this  foolishness  stop!  The  law  is  against  it. 
Public  opinion  is  against  it.  Common  sense  is 
against  it,  and  so  is  humanity  and  morality.  Pub 
lic  opinion  says  that  every  such  case  lowers  our 
moral  standard  at  home  and  belittles  us  abroad. 
Public  opinion  doesn't  care  a  snap  for  the  duel  or 
the  duelist.  Duels  prove  nothing.  They  establish 
no  man's  character  for  truth  or  integrity.  They 
give  him  no  better  credit  in  bank,  no  more  friends 
in  business.  Among  decent  people  he  is  looked  upon 
as  a  partial  outlaw,  and  they  shrink  from  his  society 
for  fear  of  offending  him.  His  code  of  morals  and 
his  peculiar  sense  of  honor  is  a  silent  insult  to  them, 
as  though  he  had  said:  "I  move  in  a  higher  plane 
than  you  common  folks.  I  am  a  man  of  honor— a 
gentleman."  He  has  been  engaged  in  a  dishonor 
able  business  and  he  knows  it,  for  he  has  had  to 
skulk  around  in  the  night  and  hide  and  dodge  like  a 
thief.  He  does  not  dare  to  fight  on  the  genial,  lov 
ing  soil  of  his  own  State,  for  that  would  disfran 
chise  him,  and  so  he  seeks  some  other.  In  fact,  the 
whole  thing  would  be  as  funny  as  a  farce  if  nobody 


BILL   AKP.  317 

was  concerned  but  the  principals  and  their  seconds. 
But  there  are  parents  and  wives  and  children  and 
friends,  and  hence  the  deep  concern.  Then  let  us 
have  more  peace  and  less  foolishness.  Let  a  man 
take  part  in  no  show  that  he  has  to  keep  secret  from 
his  wife  or  his  children.  Let  him  undertake  no  peril 
that  his  preacher  couldn't  approve  with  a  parting 
prayer  and  benediction.  In  fact,  I  have  always 
wondered  why  the  preacher  was  not  taken  along  as 
well  as  the  surgeon,  for  where  the  devil  is  the  man 
of  God  ought  to  have  an  equal  chance  to  capture  an 
immortal  soul. 


318  BILL    ARP. 


CHAPTEE  XLVI. 


" BILLY  iisr  THE  Low  GKOUNDS." 

Write,  my  child— write  something  to  The  Consti 
tution.  I  don't  care  what.  I  am  too  nervous.  I 
can't  think  my  own  thoughts.  It  is  perfectly  horrible 
—awful,  but  I  reckon  it's  all  right.  I  reckon  so.  I 
wish  there  was  not  a  tooth  in  my  head.  When  they 
come,  they  come  with  pain  and  peril,  and  keep  the 
poor  child  miserable,  and  when  they  go  they  go  with 
a  torture  that  no  philosophy  can  endure.  Oh,  my 
poor  jaw— just  look  how  it  is  swollen.  I  am  a  sight. 
A  pitiful  prospect.  I  look  like  a  bloated  bond-holder 
on  one  side  of  my  face  and  no  bonds  to  comfort  me. 
I  wonder  what  would  comfort  a  man  in  my  fix.  I 
have  suffered  more  mortal  agony  from  my  teeth  than 
from  everything  else  put  together.  Samson  couldn't 
pull  them,  hardly,  for  they  are  all  riveted  to  the  jaw 
bone.  I  have  been  living  in  dread  for  a  month,  for 
I  knew  that  eyetooth  was  fixing  up  trouble;  and  so 
yesterday  morning  it  sprung  a  leak  at  the  breakfast 
table  and  I  jumped  out  of  my  chair.  The  shell  caved 
in,  the  nerve  was  touched,  and  in  my  agony  I  gave 
one  groan  and  retired  like  I  was  a  funeral.  Five 
miles  from  town  and  no  doctor.  Don't  put  down 
what  I  suffered  all  that  day,  and  the  night  following, 
for  you  can't.  Mush  poultices  and  camphor  and  pare 
goric  and  bromide  and  chloroform,  and  still  the  por- 
cession  moved  on,  and  the  jumping,  throbbing  agony 
sent  no  flag  of  truce— no  cessation  of  hostilities. 
What  do  I  care  for  anything?  Don't  tell  me  about 
Hendricks  being  in  Atlanta.  I  don't  care  where  he 


BILL   AEP.  319 

is.  Yes,  I  do.  He  is  a  good  man,  but  I've  got  no 
time  to  think  about  him  now.  Please  give  me  some 
more  of  that  camphor.  I've  burned  all  the  skin  off 
my  mouth  now,  but  it  is  a  counter-irritant  and  sorter 
scatters  the  pain  around.  If  I  had  some  morphine  I 
would  take  it,  for  I  want  rest.  I  am  tired.  Oh,  for 
one  short  hour  of  rest. 

Write  something,  my  daughter— write  to  The  Con 
stitution  and  explain.  Tell  them  I  am  "  Billy  in  the 
low  grounds."  I  am  suffering  and  want  sympathy. 
Write  a  note  to  the  doctor,  and  tell  him  to  come, 
come  quick.  I  can't  go  through  another  night.  Oh, 
my  country.  Let  me  try  that  hot  iron  again.  I'll 
cook  this  old  fat  jaw  outside  and  inside.  I  wish  I 
had  no  tongue,  for  I  can't  keep  it  from  touching  the 
plagued  tooth.  Just  look  at  my  gums,  they  have 
swelled  up  so  you  can  hardly  see  the  old  tooth.  Give 
me  a  knife  and  the  hand  glass.  I'll  see  if  I  can't 
let  some  blood  out  of  these  strutting  gums.  I  am  so 
nervous  I  can't  hardly  hold  the  knife,  but  here  she 
goes.  Oh,  my  country.  Now  give  me  the  camphor 
and  I'll  let  it  burn  in  a  new  place. 

Just  write  a  line  to  The  Constitution;  I  don't  care 
what— say  I  am  sick.  I  wonder  if  the  doctor  will 
come.  He  will  kill  me,  I  know.  It  is  awful  to  think 
of  cold  steel  clamping  this  tooth  and  being  jammed 
away  up  on  these  gums.  I'll  take  chloroform,  I 
reckon,  for  I  can't  stand  it.  I  am  afraid  he  will 
come.  I  want  him  and  I  don't  want  him.  The  last 
tooth  I  had  pulled  I  went  to  the  dentist's  office  like 
a  hero,  and  I  was  glad  he  wasn't  in— glad  his  door 
was  locked — and  for  two  more  days  I  endured  my 
agony,  and  then  had  to  have  it  pulled  at  last.  And 
he  pulled  me  all  to  pieces,  and  the  chloroform  left 
me  before  he  got  done,  and  I  had  an  awful  time. 


320  BILL    ABP. 

The  memory  of  it  is  excruciating,  and  yet  I  have 
got  to  go  through  with  the  same  thing  again.  "Oh, 
the  pity  of  it,  lago,  the  pity  of  it."  What  has  a 
man  got  teeth  for,  I  would  like  to  know.  It  is  the 
brute  that  is  in  him,  the  dog,  or  the  old  Adam  that 
evoluted  from  the  monkeys.  There  is  nothing  God 
like  about  teeth.  They  bite,  that  is  all.  They  are 
called  " canines."  I  saw  a  man  bite  another  man's 
nose  off,  once— the  teeth  did  it.  The  eye  is  God 
like,  angelic,  beautiful,  harmless.  The  ear  is  a  good 
thing,  too,  for  it  takes  in  the  harmonies  of  nature 
and  makes  music  sweet— music,  that  is  the  only  thing 
common  to  angels  and  men.  The  nose  is  gentle  and 
ornamental,  but  it  is  not  of  much  consequence  except 
to  blow  off  a  bad  cold  and  tell  the  difference  be 
tween  cologne  and  codfish.  But  the  teeth— well,  I 
think  that  false  ones  are  better  than  the  genuine, 
for  they  never  ache.  I  don't  care  for  any,  now.  I 
am  tired.  These  women  can  have  eight  or  ten 
pulled  at  one  time— just  to  get  a  new  set.  How  in 
the  world  do  they  stand  it?  Pride,  I  reckon;  wo 
manly  pride,  womanly  nature ;  her  love  of  the  beau 
tiful.  But  we  men  can  wear  a  moustache  and  hide 
a  whole  set  of  rotten  snags.  If  women  had  beards, 
the  dentists  would  perish. 

There  she  goes  again,  and  then  boom!  Let  me 
try  some  more  paregoric  and  camphor.  Maybe  I 
can  go  to  sleep  after  awhile  if  I  will  keep  dosing.  I 
wish  I  had  just  a  small  grain  of  dynamite  behind 
that  tooth,  just  at  the  end  of  the  roots;  I  would  ex 
plode  it  if  it  killed  me. 

The  doctor  coming,  you  say!  Merciful  heavens! 
Well,  let  him  come.  In  the  language  of  Patrick 
Henry,  "I  repeat  it,  sir,  let  him  come."  "Lay  on, 
McDuff"— cold  steel  forceps,  wrenching,  twisting, 


BILL    ARP.  321 

crushing,  gouging.  I  don't  believe  I  have  got  a 
friend  in  the  world.  I  almost  wish  I  was  dead. 
Teeth  are  a  humbug— a  grand  mistake— a  blunder 
—an  eye-tooth  especially,  that  sends  roots  away  up 
under  the  eye  and  makes  an  abscess  there.  They 
say  a  child  is  smart  when  it  cuts  the  eye-tooth.  I 
believe  I  had  rather  do  without  and  be  a  fool.  I 
have  had  rheumatism  and  all  sorts  of  pains,  but  I 
will  compromise  on  anything  but  the  toothache. 
I've  a  great  respect  for  dentists,  for  they  do  the 
best  they  can  to  relieve  mankind  from  his  most  mis 
erable  agony. 

"Good  morning,  doctor,  I  suppose  I  am  the  un 
fortunate  individual  you  have  come  to  doctor.  I  am 
ready  for  the  rack.  Get  out  your  chloroform  and 
your  steel-jawed  grabs;  I  am  ready  for  the  sacri 
fice.  Is  that  a  dagger  that  I  see  before  me?" 
************ 

Father  is  in  his  little  bed.  He  is  asleep  now.  The 
long  agony  is  over.  For  nearly  one  hour  we  all 
wrestled  with  him,  for  the  chloroform  gave  out.  He 
had  taken  so  many  things  before  the  doctor  came 
that  chloroform  failed  to  subdue  him.  It  only  made 
him  delirious,  and  when  we  could  not  hold  him  we 
called  in  our  blacksmith,  and  even  then  he  pulled  us 
all  over  the  room,  and  the  doctor  had  to  take  him 
on  the  wing.  The  old  shell  crushed  and  the  roots 
had  to  be  dug  out  in  fragments.  It  was  pitiful  to 
hear  him  beg  to  go  home.  He  has  morphine  now, 
and  will  be  all  right  in  the  morning.  He  told  me  to 
write  you  something,  and  I  have  written. 

BILL  AEP,  Per  M. 

Just  now  he  waked  up  and  wanted  to  know  who 
whipped  that  fight— the  parrot  or  the  monkey.  M. 

(21) 


322  BILL    AKP. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 


WILLIAM  GETS  LEFT. 

It  is  home  where  the  heart  is,  and  we  are  all  happy 
now.  Here  is  the  big  old  family  room,  and  the  spa 
cious  fireplace  is  crowded  with  the  big  back  logs  and 
the  front  logs  and  the  top  logs,  and  the  cheerful,  gen 
ial  blaze  leaps  out  at  every  opening  and  makes  us 
all  sit  back  in  the  family  circle.  I  sit  near  the  good 
old  window  and  look  out  upon  the  same  pleasing 
prospect  of  fields  and  distant  hills  and  am  comforted. 
The  dogs  are  in  the  family  ring  and  the  canaries  are 
singing  in  their  cage,  and  the  maltese  cat  is  purring 
in  Jessie 's  lap.  There  is  a  lively  chattering  of  happy 
voices  all  around  me,  for  the  long  spell  is  broken  and 
the  broken  family  almost  united.  I  say  almost,  for 
the  sick  boy  and  his  mother  are  in  town  at  his  sis 
ter's,  and  these  children  have  not  yet  seen  them.  It 
was  too  cold  to  bring  him  five  miles  over  a  frozen 
road,  and  so  I  came  out  alone  to  give  them  pleasure 
in  broken  doses.  I  hoped  to  surprise  them  and  peep 
in  at  the  window,  but  they  were  on  the  lookout  down 
the  road,  and  have  nearly  looked  a  hole  through  the 
window  in  anxious  expectation.  With  a  scream  and 
a  shout  they  all  came  flying  down  the  hill  to  meet  me ; 
and  such  a  time  as  we  all  had,  hugging  and  kissing 
and  dancing  around  with  joy.  They  loaded  me  down 
and  I  could  hardly  wag  along  for  their  embraces.  I 
don't  believe  that  folks  are  any  happier  in  heaven, 
and  I  don't  know  that  I  wish  to  be. 

We  left  Sanford  last  Tuesday,  took  the  boy  on  & 


BILL   AKP.  323 

cot  over  the  long  wharf  that  stretches  away  out  into 
the  lake,  and  put  him  aboard  the  beautiful  steamer, 
the  '  '  City  of  Jacksonville. ' 9  We  set  him  down  in  an 
easy  chair,  and  when  the  warning  bell  was  rung  we 
bade  a  sweet  good-bye  to  kindred  and  friends,  and 
soon  the  engines  were  unloosed  and  the  big  wheels 
turned  and  the  boat  moved  down  the  lake  with  quiv 
ering  throbs.  The  anxious  mother  watched  her  boy 
with  watery  eyes  as  he  looked  out  greedily  upon  the 
bright  waters  and  feasted  his  eyes  once  more  upon 
scenes  outside  of  a  sick-chamber.  The  boy  has  no 
use  of  his  lower  limbs  and  has  to  be  carried  in  arms 
from  place  to  place,  and  it  was  no  small  trouble  to  get 
him  through  narrow  doors  and  up  and  down  the 
stairs  and  into  the  cars,  but  next  morning  we  got  him 
safely  on  a  sleeper  to  Jacksonville  and  then  breathed 
easier,  for  it  was  the  last  transfer  until  we  got  to 
Macon. 

Waycross.  I  see  Waycross  now.  I  expect  to  see 
Waycross  in  visions  by  day  and  in  dreams  by.  night 
for  years  to  come.  I  have  memories  of  Waycross.  I 
like  Waycross,  for  it  is  a  bright  and  pleasant  town, 
and  has  good  hotels  and  pleasant  homes,  and  is  kept 
lively  with  moving  trains ;  but  I  had  an  awful  time 
at  Waycross.  Our  train  stopped  there  and  had  to 
wait  for  a  train  on  another  road,  they  said,  and  I  got 
out  with  other  passengers  and  walked  the  board  plat 
form,  but  keeping  an  eye  upon  our  sleeper  and  within 
easy  reach  of  it.  There  were  two  sleepers  behind 
ours  that  belonged  to  the  train,  and  so  I  meandered 
along  down  to  where  a  newsboy  was  selling  Savannah 
morning  papers.  I  gave  him  a  quarter  and  was  quiet 
ly  waiting  for  the  change,  when  suddenly  I  heard  a 
darkey  say:  "Macon  is  a  slippin'  and  a  slidin'  off." 
I  looked  around  instantly  to  see  what  he  meant,  and 


324  BILL   ARP. 

sure  enough  she  was  already  a  hundred  yards  away, 
moving  like  a  black  snake  over  the  ground  and  get 
ting  faster  every  moment.  The  two  rear  sleepers 
had  been  cut  off  and  I  did  not  know  it.  I  will  never 
forget  the  concentrated  misery  of  that  moment  when 
I  realized  that  my  wife  and  helpless  boy  were  gone 
and  I  was  left.  My  heart  sank  down,  my  voice  left 
me,  and  all  my  philosophy  was  gone.  I  grew  weak 
and  faintish,  and  sat  down  on  a  bench  to  collect 
myself  and  consider  the  awful  situation.  What  will 
they  do!  When  will  they  find  out  that  I  am  not 
somewhere  on  the  train?  The  boy  will  soon  want 
me,  I  know,  and  his  mother  will  send  the  porter  to 
hunt  me  up.  The  conductor  will  soon  call  for  our 
fare,  and  I  have  the  passes  and  my  wife  no  money. 
Bye  and  bye  she  will  learn  that  I  am  not  on  the 
train,  and  then,  ah!  then.  I  could  see  the  tears  in 
her  eyes  and  the  quivering  lips,  and  the  nervous 
restlessness  of  the  boy,  and  there  was  no  help. 
Arousing  myself,  I  hurried  to  the  telegraph  that 
was  clicking  near  by  and  asked  hurriedly  for  a  dis 
patch  to  be  sent  to  Jessup  so  that  the  operator  there 
might  tell  the  conductor  or  my  wife  that  I  was  safe 
and  would  overtake  them  at  Macon.  My  anxiety 
was  intense,  but  I  got  no  sympathy.  The  youth  said 
all  right,  and  I  waited  for  an  assurance  from  the 
operation  at  Jessup  that  he  would  attend  to  it.  I 
called  three  times  for  an  answer  from  him,  but  got 
none.  WTien,  for  the  third  time,  I  asked  and  almost 
begged  for  him  to  ask  for  a  reply,  he  said  with  un 
civil  indifference:  "I  have  no  time,  sir;  I  am 
busy."  Well,  he  was  very  busy— smoking  a  cigar 
and  chatting  with  a  friend.  He  was  not  at  the  in 
strument.  A  gentleman  near  by  noted  the  incivility 


BILL   AEP.  325 

and  told  me  I  had  better  go  up  to  the  Western  Union 
if  I  wanted  attention.  This  was  news  to  me,  for  I 
had  thought  all  the  time  that  this  was  the  Western 
Union,  but  suddenly  found  that  it  was  only  a  rail 
road  office.  I  had  paid  him  for  a  dispatch  to  Mr. 
Brown,  of  Macon,  that  called  for  an  answer,  and 
two  hours  had  passed  and  none  had  come.  So  I 
went  to  the  Western  Union  and  repeated  to  Mr. 
Brown  and  soon  had  a  reply  that  he  would  meet  my 
wife  and  boy  and  take  care  of  them.  Her  desola 
tion  and  distress  was  complete  when  she  learned 
that  I  was  missing— nobody  called  on  her  or  the 
conductor  at  Jessup.  The  train  rolled  on  and 
passed  Eastman  before  her  fears  began,  and  from 
there  to  Macon  she  imagined  I  had  fallen  from  the 
platform  or  in  some  way  had  met  my  death,  and 
when  at  last  she  reached  Macon,  and  Mr.  Brown 
came  in  the  sleeper  and  told  her  I  was  all  right,  she 
and  the  boy  both  cried  with  joy.  The  Brown  House 
gave  them  kind  welcome  and  every  attention.  They 
had  a  good  night's  rest  and  were  only  aroused  by  a 
vigorous  knock  at  the  door  at  four  o'clock  the  next 
morning.  That  was  me.  The  poet  says : 

"One  glorious  hour  of  crowded  life 
Is  worth  an  age  without  a  name. ' ' 

And  just  so  we  can  sometimes  live  longer  and  live 
more  in  a  minute  than  at  any  other  time  in  a  month. 
I  dident  blame  her  for  slipping  off  and  leaving  me, 
and  she  dident  blame  me  for  stopping  at  Waycross, 
but  now  that  the  long  agony  is  over  we  can  smile  at 
our  mutual  woes  and  fears.  My  kind  and  consider 
ate  wife  has  not  told  it  on  me  but  fourteen  times  up 
to  this  date,  and  I  don't  expect  to  hear  of  it  any 
longer  than  I  live.  She  gently  hinted  yesterday  that 


326  BILL   ARP. 

she  didn't  suppose  that  I  would  ever  mention  Way- 
cross  in  my  Sunday  letter,  for  it  was  most  too  per 
sonal  and  was  not  of  a  character  to  interest  the  pub 
lic.  So  you  perceive  I  have  taken  the  hint  and  told 
it  all  just  as  it  was.  As  General  Lee  said  at  the  bat 
tle  of  Gettysburg:  "It  was  all  my  fault.  It  was  all 
my  fault." 

I  shall  step  off  no  more  trains  to  buy  a  paper, 
and  I  now  warn  all  travelers  to  stand  by  the  car  the 
wife  is  in  and  not  go  fooling  down  the  line.  Dick 
Hargis  hollers  "All  aboard!"  like  a  fog  horn  when 
his  train  is  ready  to  move,  and  you  can  hear  him  a 
quarter  of  a  mile,  but  Dick  can't  run  all  the  trains, 
and  so  ever  and  anon  some  poor  fellow  like  me  is 
bound  to  get  left. 

Farewell,  Waycross.  I  found  some  pleasant 
friends  there  before  I  left,  and  they  comforted  me, 
especially  the  host  of  the  Grand  Central,  who  was 
an  old  Gwinnett  boy,  and  we  revived  many  recollec 
tions  of  our  youthful  days.  But  still  when  I  thinks 
of  "Walcross  it  is  with  feelings  somewhat  like  those 
we  have  when  we  visit  an  old-time  battlefield  where 
we  fought,  bled  and  died  for  liberty. 


BILL   ARP.  327 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE  AND  MEMORY. 

We  see  that  Dr.  Curry,  that  great  and  good  man, 
is  writing  the  reminiscences  of  his  youth.  How  lov 
ingly  he  proceeds  with  his  work!  How  gushingly 
he  tells  of  his  old  school  days,  and  the  halos  and 
rainbows  that  gilded  his  childhood!  How  reverent 
ly  he  writes  of  the  grand  old  men  of  the  olden  time, 
for  there  were  giants  in  those  days !  How  feelingly 
he  records  his  companionship  with  the  family  ne 
groes—the  servants  of  the  household  who  were  con 
tented  and  happy  and  trusting,  and  who  loved  and 
honored  every  member  of  their  master's  family,  and 
were  loved  by  them !  Oh,  the  tender  and  teary  recol 
lections  of  'possum  hunts  and  coon  hunts  and  rabbit 
hunts  and  corn  shuckings,  and  eating  watermelons 
in  the  cotton  patch  and  sometimes  finding  them 
while  pulling  fodder  in  the  hot  and  sultry  cornfield ! 
What  frolics  in  going  to  mill  and  going  in  washing 
and  jumping  from  the  springboard  into  ten-foot 
water!  What  glorious  sport  in  playing  town-ball 
and  bull-pen  and  cat  and  roily-hole  and  knucks  and 
sweepstakes.  Baseball  has  grown  out  of  town-ball; 
it  is  no  improvement.  The  pitcher  used  to  belong  to 
the  ins  and  threw  the  best  ball  he  could,  for  he 
wanted  it  hit  and  knocked  as  far  away  as  possible, 
but  now  he  belongs  to  the  outs  and  wants  it  missed. 
We  used  to  throw  at  a  boy  to  stop  him  running  to 
another  base,  and  we  hit  him  if  we  could;  but  these 
modern  balls  are  hard  and  heavy  and  dangerous, 


328  BILL    ARP. 

and  many  a  boy  goes  home  with  a  bruised  face  or  a 
broken  finger.  We  used  to  take  an  old  rubber  shoe 
and  cut  it  into  strings  and  wind  it  tight  into  a  ball 
until  it  was  half  grown,  and  then  finish  it  with  yarn 
that  was  unraveled  from  an  old  woolen  sock.  Our 
good  mothers  furnished  everything,  and  then  made 
a  buckskin  cover  and  stitched  it  over  so  nice.  Oh, 
my,  how  those  balls  would  bounce,  and  yet  they 
didn't  hurt  very  bad  when  hit  by  them.  They  were 
sweet  to  throw  and  sweet  to  catch.  I  heard  lying 
Tom  Turner  say  he  had  one  that  bounced  so  high  it 
never  came  down  till  next  day,  and  then  his  little 
dog  grabbed  it,  and  it  took  the  dog  up,  and  he  had 
never  seen  the  dog  nor  the  ball  since.  I  used  to  be 
lieve  that,  but  I  don't  now.  When  we  played  town- 
ball  some  of  the  outs  would  circle  away  off,  two  hun 
dred  yards,  and  it  was  glorious  to  see  them  catch  a 
ball  that  had  nearly  reached  the  sky  as  it  gratefully 
curved  from  the  stroke  of  the  bat.  We  had  an  hour 
and  a  half  for  recess,  and  most  of  it  was  spent  in 
town-ball  or  bull-pen.  Bull-pen  was  no  bad  game, 
especially  when  the  ins  got  down  to  two  and  the 
juggling  began.  I  used  to  be  so  proud  because  I 
could  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  pen  and  defy  the 
jugglers  to  hit  me,  for  I  was  slender  and  active  and 
could  bend  in  or  bend  out  or  squat  down  or  jump  up 
and  dodge  every  ball  that  came,  but  I  couldn't  do  it 
now,  not  much  I  couldn't,  for,  alas!  I  can  neither 
squat  nor  jump,  and  a  boy  could  hit  my  corporosity 
as  easy  as  a  barn  door.  Oh,  these  memories,  how 
sweet  they  haunt  us. 

"I  remember,  I  remember 
The  house  where  I  was  born; 
The  little  window  where  the  sun 
Came  peeping  in  at  morn. " 


BILL   ARP.  329 

Of  course  I  do— everybody  does.  The  other  night 
there  were  ten  of  our  school  board  in  session,  and 
the  special  business  was  whether  to  give  a  longer 
recess  at  noon  or  not,  and  it  was  curious  to  hear  the 
various  opinions  on  the  subject.  Our  president 
listened  patiently  to  all,  and  then  made  a  speech  for 
himself,  and  said  that  the  children  should  have  more 
time  to  go  home  and  get  a  good,  warm  dinner.  "Cold 
dinners,"  he  said,  "are  unhealthy.  The  laws  of 
hygiene  teach  us  that  the  processes  of  digestion  are 
much  more  easily  carried  on  when  the  food  is  warm 
and  fresh  from  the  oven.  More  than  half  of  the 
pupils  take  their  dinners  to  school  shut  up  in  tin 
buckets  or  wrapped  up  in  baskets,  and  they  get  cold 
and  clammy,  and  are  crammed  into  the  stomach  in 
a  hurry,  and  the  children  go  to  playing  before  diges 
tion  begins,  and  of  course  the  stomach  rebels  and 
won't  do  its  work;  and  after  school  is  out  they  go 
home  and  cram  in  a  lot  of  cake  and  jelly  and  pickle 
on  top  of  the  cold,  undigested  dinner,  and  the  first 
thing  you  know  the  boy  or  the  girl  is  sick  and  has  to 
stay  at  home  a  day  or  two  to  recuperate.  I  am  de 
cidedly  in  favor  of  a  longer  recess  and  warm  din 
ners." 

That  was  a  good  speech  and  a  sensible  argument, 
but  it  hurt  my  feeling  so  bad  that  I  rose  forward 
and  in  trembling  accents  told  how  I  went  to  school 
three  miles  from  home  for  three  long  and  happy 
years,  and  carried  my  dinner  in  a  bucket,  and  how 
I  enjoyed  those  cold  dinners  that  my  good  mother  so 
carefully  prepared,  and  how  I  had  often  tried  to 
write  a  poem  to  that  little  tin  bucket— such  a  poem 
as  Wordsworth  wrote  about  '  *  The  old  oaken  bucket 


330  BILL   ABP. 

that  hung  in  the  well."    My  poem  began  just  like 
his,  but  always  ended  with 

That  dear  little  bucket, 

That  bright,  shining  bucket, 

That  little  tin  bucket  I  carried  to  school. 

Oh,  those  delightful  cold  dinners  that  were  so  nice 
ly  arranged !  The  tender  and  luscious  fried  chicken, 
with  the  liver  and  gizzard  and  all;  the  hard-boiled 
eggs,  with  the  little  paper  of  pepper  and  salt  close 
by;  the  home-made  sausages,  linked  sausages,  that, 
in  the  language  of  Milton,  were  "linked  sweetness— 
long  drawn  out;"  the  little  bottle  of  syrup,  and  the 
round,  hand-made  biscuit  that  were  beaten  from  the 
dough  and  had  no  soda  in  them— and  last  of  all,  the 
good,  old-fashioned  ginger  cakes  and  the  turn-over 
pies.  Ah,  those  rights  and  lefts,  those  delicious  juicy 
pies  that  were  made  of  peaches  that  my  mother 
dried. 

Just  then  there  was  a  racket  behind  me,  and  Will 
Howard  was  seen  falling  over  in  his  chair,  with  his 
hands  clasped  below  the  belt  and  his  eyes  rolled  up 
to  heaven.  He  gasped  piteously  as  he  whispered: 
"Hugh,  Major,  hush,  for  heaven's  sake,"  Martin 
Collins  shouted,  t  i  Glory ! ' '  and  Judge  Milner  heaved 
a  troubled  sigh  and  murmured,  "Oh,  would  I  were 
a  boy  again." 

For  fear  of  a  scene  I  suspended  my  broken  re 
marks  and  our  worthy  president  gracefully  sub 
sided.  Major  Foute  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  empty 
sleeve  and  moved  for  an  adjournment,  and  so  the 
recess  hour  remains  unchanged. 

I  believe  it  is  best  for  children  to  walk  a  mile  or 
two  to  school,  especially  if  there  are  other  children 
to  walk  with  them  a  part  of  the  way.  Every  step 


BILL   ARP.  331 

of  that  three-mile  way  is  dear  to  me  now,  and  I  love 
to  recall  the  boyish  frolics  as  morning  and  evening 
we  meandered  along,  playing  tag  or  mad  dog,  or 
running  foot  races,  or  jumping  half-hammond,  or 
stopping  at  the  half-way  branch  to  wade  in  the  water 
or  dam  it  up,  or  catch  the  tadpoles,  or  drive  the  little 
minnows  into  their  holes.  It  was  there  that  I  saw 
for  the  first  time  a  tadpole  turning  into  a  frog,  and  it 
was  there  we  killed  a  water  moccasin  with  a  frog  in 
his  throat  and  saw  his  frogship  kick  out  backwards 
and  hop  away.  I  can  go  now  to  the  very  gully  that 
had  a  vein  of  red  chalk,  and  another  one  that  had 
white.  I  know  every  persimmon  tree  and  chestnut 
and  hickory,  and  where  the  red  haws  were,  and  the 
black  haws  and  the  fruitful  walnut  that  we  climbed 
in  its  season  and  rattled  the  nuts  to  the  ground  and 
stained  our  hands  and  clothes  in  hulling  them.  All 
such  things  are  around  me  now,  but  there  is  no 
charm,  no  fond  memory  about  them,  for  they  are 
not  mine.  All  these  are  for  another  generation— an 
other  set  of  boys  and  girls.  Bye  and  bye  they  will 
be  looking  back  at  theirs  as  I  am  looking  back  at 
mine.  In  a  few  more  years  they  will  reverse  the 
telescope.  Until  I  was  past  thirty  I  looked  through 
the  little  end  and  saw  life  expanded  and  magnified 
before  me,  while  the  distant  things  were  brought 
almost  within  reach,  and  I  was  nearing  the  goal  with 
my  hope  and  my  ambition.  But  alas!  I  haven't 
reached  it,  and  by  degrees  hope  weakened  and  ambi 
tion  became  chilled,  and  with  a  sad  humility  I  began 
to  look  backwards— I  reversed  the  telescope  and  saw 
my  life  away  back  in  the  distant  past.  The  picture 
was  far— very  far  away,  but  it  was  beautiful,  and 
now  as  the  years  grow  short  I  find  myself  looking 


332  BILL    ARP. 

through  the  large  end  almost  altogether.  The  memo 
ries  of  the  past  grow  sweeter  as  the  years  roll  on. 
The  capital  stock  of  the  young  is  hope— but  the 
treasure  of  age  is  memory. 


BILL   ARP.  333 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


ARP'S  REMINISCENCES  OF  FIFTY  YEARS. 

A  sweet  little  girl  from  Marietta  writes  me  a  nice 
letter  and  begs  me  to  write  something  for  the  chil 
dren—just  for  the  children. 

I  never  look  upon  a  flock  of  happy,  well-raised 
children  without  wondering  if  they  know  how  well 
off  they  are— how  much  better  off  than  their  grand 
parents  were  some  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago.  I  would 
like  to  see  old  Father  time  set  his  clock  back  a  half 
a  century  just  for  a  week  and  put  eyervthing  like  it 
was  then,  and  I  would  walk  around  and  have  lots  of 
fun  out  of  those  little  folks.  I  don't  believe  they 
could  stand  it  for  a  whole  week,  but  it  would  do  them 
good  to  try.  In  the  first  place,  they  would  have  to 
get  out  of  their  comfortable  houses  with  plastered 
walls  and  large  glass  windows  and  coal  grates,  and 
get  into  smaller  houses  with  about  two  rooms  in 
front  and  a  back  shed  room  that  had  no  fireplace 
and  no  ceiling  and  a  window  with  a  wooden  shutter, 
and  in  that  shed  room  they  would  have  to  sleep,  and 
the  wind  would  come  slipping  in  all  night  and  kiss 
their  faces  ever  so  nice.  They  would  have  to  take  off 
all  their  pretty  clothes,  and  wear  country  jeans  and 
linsey,  and  they  would  have  to  go  to  the  shoemaker's 
and  have  some  coarse,  rough  shoes  made  of  leather 
and  no  high  heels  nor  box  toes  nor  buttons.  But 
they  would  be  good  and  strong,  and  two  pairs  would 
last  any  boy  or  girl  a  whole  year— one  pair  would  do 
them  if  they  greased  them  now  and  then  and  went 


334  BILL   ARP. 

barefooted  during  summer  as  we  used  to  do.  All  the 
store  stockings  would  have  to  be  dispensed  with,  and 
the  elastic,  too,  and  they  would  put  on  some  good 
warm  ones  that  were  knit  by  hand,  and  be  tied  up 
with  a  rag.  No  nice  hats  from  the  milliner's  with 
pretty  flowers  and  ribbons  gay  flying,  but  the  girls 
would  have  to  put  on  home-made  bonnets,  nicely 
quilted,  and  the  boys  would  have  to  wear  home 
made  wool  hats  or  sealskin  caps  that  would  last  two 
or  three  years  and  stretch  bigger  as  the  heads  grew 
bigger.  There  would  not  be  found  a  store  in  the 
whole  State  where  ready-made  clothing  could  be 
found— not  a  coat  nor  a  pair  of  pants,  nor  a  shirt, 
nor  a  skirt,  nor  a  doll,  nor  hardly  a  toy  of  any  kind. 
I  suppose  that  some  few  things  for  children  might 
be  found  in  Augusta,  or  Savannah,  or  Macon;  but 
the  country  stores  wouldent  have  anything,  not  even 
candy  nor  oranges  or  a  box  of  raisins.  A  boy  could 
find  a  dog  knife  or  a  barlow,  and  be  allowed  about 
one  a  year,  but  the  little  girls  couldent  even  find  a 
thimble  small  enough  nor  a  pair  of  scissors.  Chil 
dren  were  not  of  much  consequence  then,  especially 
girls. 

I  would  like  to  see  the  clock  set  back  for  one  week 
and  see  the  boys  cutting  wood  and  making  fires,  cut 
ting  wood  half  the  day  Saturday  for  Sunday,  and 
Sunday  morning  sitting  down  to  learn  some  more  of 
the  shorter  catechism  about  justification,  and  sancti- 
fication,  and  adoption,  and  some  more  verses  in  the 
Bible,  and  that  poetry  in  the  primer  about— 

"In  Adam's  fall 
We  sinned  all. 
The  cat  doth  play 
And  after  slay. 


BILL   ARP.  335 

Xerxes  must  die 
And  so  must  I. 
Zacheus,  he 
Did  climb  a  tree 
His  Lord  to  see. ' ' 


I  would  like  to  see  one  of  these  boys  wake  up  some 
cold  morning  and  when  he  tried  to  make  a  fire  and 
stirred  around  among  the  ashes  to  find  a  coal,  he 
couldent  find  one,  and  what  then?  Not  a  match  in 
the  wide,  wide  world,  for  there  was  none  invented. 
Wouldent  he  be  in  a  fix !  Well,  he  would  have  to  run 
over  to  the  nabor's,  if  he  was  a  town  boy,  and  bor 
row  a  chunk.  If  he  was  a  country  boy  he  would 
have  to  walk  a  mile  or  so,  maybe,  and  nearly  freeze 
to  death  before  he  got  back,  and  if  it  was  raining  his 
chunk  was  apt  to  go  out  on  the  way.  I  would  like 
to  see  these  boys  and  girls  studying  their  lessons  by 
the  light  of  one  tallow  candle.  No  gas,  no  kerosene, 
no  oil  of  any  sort— only  one  flickering  light  of  a 
candle,  or  maybe  only  a  lightwood  blaze  in  the  fire 
place.  I  reckon  they  would  study  hard  and  study 
fast,  and  go  to  bed  soon  and  get  up  early  in  the 
morning  and  try  it  again.  I  would  like  to  see  them 
sit  down  to  write  a  letter  and  find  nothing  but  an  old 
goose  quill  for  a  pen— not  a  steel  pen  in  the  world. 
I  would  watch  the  poor  fellow  as  he  tried  to  make  a 
pen  out  of  a  quill,  and  after  he  had  cut  it  to  a  point 
see  him  try  to  split  it  in  the  middle  with  his  knife, 
and  split  it  too  far  or  not  far  enough,  or  on  one  side 
and  then  throw  it  away  in  despair. 

It  would  all  be  fun  to  us  old  folks,  but  it  wouldent 
be  fun  for  the  boys  or  the  girls  to  be  set  back.  But 
there  are  old  people  living  now  who  do  the  same  old 
things  and  live  in  the  same  old  way.  Colonel  Camp 
bell  Wallace  still  uses  the  quill  pens  and  makes  them 


336  BILL    ARP. 

himself,  and  I  wish  you  could  see  how  nicely  and  how 
quickly  he  can  do  it.  Our  school  teachers  had  to 
make  the  pens  for  all  their  scholars,  and  it  took 
about  half  their  time,  for  they  had  to  mend  them 
oftener  than  make  them.  When  the  first  split  wore 
out  he  had  to  split  it  again  and  trim  it  down  to  a  new 
point.  His  knife  was  always  open  and  ready.  Poor 
man!  He  died  before  the  steel  pens  were  invented 
and  never  got  the  good  of  them. 

But  we  were  used  to  these  ways  and  never  thought 
hard  of  them.  Judge  Lester  used  to  run  over  to  our 
house  of  a  cold  morning  and  say  to  my  mother: 
i  l  Please,  mam,  lend  me  a  chunk  of  fire, ' '  and  I  used 
to  go  over  to  his  house  and  do  the  same  thing.  But 
we  didn  't  let  it  go  out  often.  "We  knew  how  to  cover 
up  fire  in  the  ashes  so  as  to  keep  it  till  morning.  I 
remember  going  over  to  Forsyth  county  once  when 
an  old  Indian  lived  there  by  the  name  of  Sawnee. 
He  didn't  go  off  with  the  rest  of  the  Indians,  but 
lived  on  a  mountain  called  Sawnee 's  mountain,  and 
he  had  some  grandsons  about  our  age.  George  Les 
ter  and  Cicero  Strong  were  with  me,  and  we  gave 
an  Indian  boy  some  money  to  show  us  how  they  got 
fire  when  their  fire  went  out.  He  took  two  dry  hick 
ory  sticks  about  a  foot  long  and  as  large  as  my 
thumb  and  a  little  bunch  of  dry  grass  and  started 
off  on  a  run  and  rubbed  the  sticks  together  so  rap 
idly  that  you  could  hardly  see  them  and  the  friction 
made  fire  and  caught  the  grass  and  he  came  back  in 
half  a  minute  with  a  blaze  in  his  hand.  I  used  to  go 
down  to  the  store  at  night  with  my  father,  and  he 
had  a  tinder  box  nailed  up  by  the  door  and  would 
strike  the  steel  with  the  flint  and  make  a  spark  and 
let  it  fall  on  a  piece  of  punk  and  light  it,  and  then  he 
would  light  his  candle  from  the  punk.  But  matches 


BILL    ARP.  337 

came  along  after  awhile  and  stopped  all  that.  I  re 
member  the  first  matches  that  came  to  our  town. 
They  were  called  Lucifer  matches,  for  some  folks 
thought  that  the  "old  boy"  had  something  to  do  with 
them,  and  wouldent  use  them.  They  smelled  strong 
of  brimstone  and  were  sold  at  twenty-five  cents  a 
box.  Now  ten  times  as  many  sell  for  a  nickle.  But 
about  lights.  Dipping  the  candles  was  one  of  the 
notable  events  of  the  year.  It  was  almost  as  big  a 
thing  as  hog  killing.  The  boys  prepared  the  canes 
or  reeds,  about  sixty  in  number,  as  large  as  the  little 
finger  and  nearly  a  yard  long.  They  were  smoothed 
at  the  joints  and  put  away  in  a  bundle  to  dry.  When 
the  time  came,  the  first  cold  weather  in  the  fall,  our 
mother  would  get  out  the  candle  wick  and  wind  it 
around  a  pair  of  cotton  cards,  end  ways,  and  after 
a  good  deal  was  wound  would  cut  one  end  with  the 
scissors,  and  that  made  the  wicks  when  doubled  just 
long  enough  for  a  candle.  Three  or  four  canes  were 
then  interlaced  through  the  back  of  an  old-fashioned 
chair  to  keep  them  steady  while  she  looped  the  wicks 
around  them  and  twisted  their  ends  together.  Seven 
wicks  were  put  on  each  cane,  and  when  the  cane  was 
taken  out  and  held  horizontal  the  wicks  hung  down 
and  were  about  two  inches  apart.  When  all  the 
canes  were  full  they  were  laid  upon  a  table  ready  for 
dipping.  The  tallow  was  melted  in  a  big  wash  pot. 
Some  beeswax  was  added  and  a  little  alum.  Old 
plank  were  placed  on  the  floor  where  the  dipping 
and  dripping  was  to  be.  Two  long  poles  or  quilting 
frames  were  placed  parallel  on  the  backs  of  chairs 
and  were  wide  enough  apart  to  let  the  candles  be 
tween  and  hold  up  the  canes.  The  big  pot  had  to  be 
kept  nearly  full  all  the  time.  A  cane  of  wicks  was 

(22) 


338  BILL    ARP. 

let  down  slowly  in  the  pot  until  the  cane  rested  on  its 
edges.  Then  it  was  lifted  up  and  allowed  to  drip 
awhile  and  then  placed  as  number  one  between  the 
long  poles  where,  if  it  dripped  any  more,  it  was  on 
the  old  plank.  The  first  course  was  long  and  tedious, 
for  it  took  the  loose  cotton  wick  some  time  to  absorb 
the  tallow.  After  that  the  process  was  rapid.  Tal 
low  would  harden  on  tallow  quickly,  and  at  every 
dipping  the  little  candles  got  larger  until  after 
awhile  they  were  large  enough  at  the  bottom  ends  to 
fill  a  candlestick,  and  that  ended  the  job.  They  were 
left  on  the  poles  over  night  and  then  slipped  off  the 
rods  and  placed  in  the  candlebox  or  an  old  trunk. 

Seven  times  sixty  made  four  hundred  and  twenty 
candles,  and  that  was  the  year's  supply.  Only  one 
candle  was  used  for  the  table  in  the  family  room. 
The  reading  and  sewing  was  all  done  by  that.  The 
boys  were  allowed  a  piece  of  one  to  go  to  bed  by. 
Nobody  sat  up  until  midnight  then.  The  night  was 
believed  to  be  created  for  sleep  and  rest,  and  the  day 
for  work.  There  were  no  theaters  nor  skating  rinks 
—no  reading  novels  half  the  night  and  lying  in  bed 
until  breakfast  the  next  morning.  The  rule  was  to 
go  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock  and  get  up  with  the  chick 
ens.  But  now  we  couldn't  read  by  candle  light.  It 
takes  at  least  two  lamps,  and  one  lamp  is  equal  to 
ten  candles.  But  we  got  along  pretty  well.  All  the 
substantial  things  were  as  good  as  they  are  now. 
Good  water,  good  air,  good  sunshine  and  shower, 
good  health,  good  warm  clothes,  good  bread  and 
meat  and  milk  and  butter,  good  peaches  and  apples, 
good  horses  to  ride,  good  fishing  and  swimming  and 
hunting.  We  dident  have  railroads  and  telegraphs 
and  telephones  and  sewing  machines  and  so  forth, 
but  we  didn't  need  them.  We  need  them  now,  for 


BILL   ARP.  339 

the  world  is  so  full  of  people  that  the  old  ways 
wouldent  feed  and  clothe  them.  The  right  thing  al 
ways  conies  along  at  the  right  time.  If  the  clock  was 
set  back  I  wonder  how  this  generation  would  manage 
about  the  cooking  business.  Fifty  years  ago  there 
were  no  cooking  stoves.  The  ovens  and  skillets  and 
spiders  were  big,  heavy  things  that  had  to  be  lifted 
on  and  off  the  fire  with  a  pair  of  pot  hooks.  They 
had  heavy  lids,  and  the  cooking  was  done  by  putting 
coals  underneath  and  coals  on  top.  It  took  bark  and 
chips  to  make  coals  quickly,  and  our  old  cook  used  to 
say,  1 1  Now  git  me  some  bark,  little  master,  and  I  gib 
you  a  bikket  when  he  done. ' '  There  was  no  soda,  no 
tartaric  acid  or  baking  powder.  The  biscuit  were 
made  by  main  strength.  The  dough  was  kneaded  by 
strong  arms,  and  sometimes  it  was  beaten  with  the 
rolling  pin  until  it  blistered.  When  the  dough  blis 
tered  it  was  good  and  made  good  biscuit.  I  can't  say 
that  we  have  any  better  cooking  now  than  we  had 
then;  but  the  stove  makes  it  a  great  deal  easier  to 
cook. 

The  boys  had  no  baseball,  but  they  had  bullpen 
and  cat  and  townball  and  roley  hole  and  tag  and 
sweepstakes  and  pull  over  the  mark  and  foot  races 
and  so  forth,  and  they  thought  there  was  nothing 
better.  They  had  the  best  rubber  balls  in  the  world, 
and  made  them  themselves.  Some  of  them  could 
bounce  thirty  feet  high.  They  were  made  by  cutting 
an  old  rubber  shoe  into  strings  and  winding  the 
strings  into  a  ball  and  covering  it  with  buckskin.  But 
after  awhile  the  rubber  shoes  were  not  made  out  of 
all  rubber;  they  were  mixed  with  something  that 
took  some  of  the  bounce  out  and  our  balls  degene 
rated.  There  was  an  old  man  living  near  us  who 
was  called  " Lying  Tom  Turner,"  and  he  told  us 


340  BILL   AEP. 

boys  one  day  that  when  he  was  a  boy  he  had  a  rub 
ber  ball  that  he  was  afraid  to  bounce  hard  for  fear  it 
would  go  up  out  of  sight  and  he  would  lose  it.  We 
asked  him  what  became  of  his  ball,  and  he  said  he 
bounced  it  one  day  most  too  hard  and  it  went  up  in 
the  clouds  and  was  gone  half  an  hour,  and  when  it 
came  down  his  little  dog  grabbed  it  in  his  mouth,  and 
it  rebounced  and  carried  the  dog  up  with  it  out  of 
sight,  and  he  had  never  seen  the  ball  nor  the  little 
dog  since. 

Well,  I  don't  know  which  times  are  the  best— the 
old  times  or  the  new.  It  is  very  nice  to  have  a  nice 
house  and  nice  furniture  and  nice  clothes  and  lots  of 
nice  story  books  and  to  ride  on  the  cars,  but  in  the 
old  times  people  didn't  hanker  after  such  things,  and 
they  were  easy  to  please,  and  were  in  no  hurry  to  get 
through  life,  and  there  were  no  suicides,  and  very  few 
crazy  folks,  and  no  pistols  to  carry  in  the  hip 
pocekts.  Nowadays  there  is  a  skeleton  in  most 
every  house.  I  don't  mean  a  real  skeleton,  but  some 
great  big  trouble  that  throws  a  dark  shadow  over  the 
family.  There  were  not  any  exciting  books  to  read 
—no  sensation  novels  that  poison  the  mind  just  like 
bad  food  poisons  the  body.  There  was  but  half  a 
dozen  newspapers  in  the  whole  State,  and  they  didn't 
have  whole  columns  full  of  murders  and  suicides  and 
robberies  and  awful  fires  that  burned  up  poor  lun 
atics  and  all  other  horrid  things  to  make  a  tender 
heart  feel  bad.  There  was  nobody  very  rich  and  no 
body  very  poor,  and  we  had  as  great  men  then  as 
we  have  now. 

If  the  clock  was  set  back  and  the  little  girl  who 
wrote  to  me  wanted  to  go  to  Augusta  with  her 
grandpa  to  visit  her  kinf  oiks,  she  would  have  to  get 
in  the  mail  coach  and  jog  along  all  day  and  all  night 


BILL   AKP.  341 

at  four  miles  an  hour  and  pay  ten  cents  a  mile,  and 
it  would  take  two  days  and  nights,  and  she  would  be 
tired  almost  to  death,  and  so  would  her  grandpa. 
Well,  they  just  couldn't  go.  But  now  they  can  go 
as  cheap  as  to  stay  at  home,  and  do  it  in  less  time, 
as  the  Irishman  said. 

But  the  clock  will  not  be  set  back,  and  so  we  must 
all  be  content  with  things  as  they  are  and  make  them 
better  if  we  can. 


342  BILL    ARP. 


CHAPTER  L. 


"A  MOTHER  is  A  MOTHER  STILL,  THE  HOLIEST  THING 

ALIVE." 

Goldsmith,  in  a  short  and  pretty  preface  to  the 
" Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  says:  " There  are  a  hundred 
faults  in  this  thing  and  a  hundred  things  might  be 
said  to  prove  them  beauties.  A  book  may  be  amus 
ing  with  many  errors,  or  it  may  be  dull  without  a 
single  absurdity.  The  hero  in  this  story  unites  in 
himself  the  three  greatest  characters  on  earth— the 
priest,  the  husbandman  and  the  father  of  a  family.  * ' 

Strange  that  the  author  could  write  such  a  charm 
ing  story  about  the  very  three  characters  he  knew 
least  about,  for  he  had  no  fitness  for  nor  experience 
in  either.  It  was  not  recorded  that  he  was  ever  in 
love  or  sought  the  company  of  virtuous  young  ladies, 
yet  his  ballad  of  the  Hermit  in  the  "  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field7'  is  admitted  to  be  the  tenderest  and  most  per 
fect  love  poem  ever  written.  My  father  made  me 
commit  it  to  memory  when  I  was  young,  and  there 
are  at  least  a  dozen  verses  in  it  that  I  can  cry  over 
now  and  it  does  me  good.  It  is  a  comfort  to  weep 
over  these  sad,  sweet  things.  Langhorn  wrote  a  verse 
about  a  poor  woman  with  a  babe  at  her  breast  hunt 
ing  over  the  battlefield  of  Minden  for  the  body  of 
her  husband,  and  when  she  found  him  she  knelt  by 
his  side  and  wept,  and  the  big  tears  fell  upon  the  face 
of  her  child  and  mingled  with  the  milk  he  drew ;  i  l  A. 
child  of  misery  baptized  in  tears."  A  painting  was 
made  of  it,  and  Walter  Scott  says  that  the  only  time 


BILL    ARP.  343 

he  ever  saw  Burns  he  was  looking  at  that  painting 
and  crying  like  a  child.  To  read  the  lines  and  imag 
ine  the  painting  is  enough  for  me.  But  if  I  had  been 
Goldsmith  I  would  have  set  down  the  mother  of  a 
family  as  greater  than  the  father. 

Evan  Howell  said  he  would  not  vote  for  a  curfew, 
for  his  observation  was  that  if  a  father  would  stay 
at  home  at  night  the  boys  would,  and  that  song  of 
"Where  is  my  wandering  boy  tonight ?"  would  not 
have  been  written.  But  the  fathers  can't  stay  at  home 
at  night.  They  are  wanted  at  the  store,  the  office, 
the  counting  room,  for  on  them  depends  the  support 
of  the  family.  But  many  a  tired  mother  can  sing 
"Where  is  my  wandering  husband  tonight?"  Alas, 
too  many  can  be  found  at  the  club,  at  the  pool-room 
or  the  hotel,  while  the  mother  is  straining  her  mind 
to  untangle  that  hard  sum,  "If  A  and  B  can  build 
a  house  in  thirty  days,  and  B  can  build  it  in  forty- 
five  days,  how  long  will  it  take  A  to  build  it  ? ' ' 

Take  it  all  in  all,  it  is  the  mothers  who  are  the 
hope  of  the  world— the  saviours  of  the  children. 
They  certainly  save  the  girls,  for  nobody  has  yet 
sung,  "Where  is  my  wandering  girl  tonight?"  If 
the  fathers  would  do  their  half  and  save  the  boys  it 
would  be  all  right.  Oh,  but  for  the  mothers  and  wives 
and  sisters;  what  would  become  of  us  without  them? 
Since  I  have  been  sick  sometimes  away  in  the  silent 
watches  of  the  night,  when,  as  Job  says, '  l  Deep  sleep 
f alleth  upon  a  man, ' '  it  does  not  fall  upon  a  woman, 
for  I  feel  her  gentle  touch  arranging  the  cover  and 
feeling  whether  I  am  breathing  or  not.  Since  I  have 
been  sick  I  have  never  caught  her  fast  asleep,  and 
the  other  night  she  got  hurt  with  me  because  I  slipped 
out  in  the  hall  and  called  the  girls  down  to  make  a 
fire  and  heat  some  water,  for  I  was  sick  and  suffering 


344  BILL    ARP. 

and  there  was  no  hot  water  in  the  boiler.    It  is  just 
as  Scott  wrote : 

"When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou. ' ' 

And  as  Coleridge  wrote : 

"A  mother  is  a  mother  still; 
The  holiest  thing  alive. ' ' 

I  may  have  written  it  before,  but  I  will  write  it 
again,  that  one  night  I  agreed  to  stay  with  two  dear 
little  girls  while  their  father  and  mother  went  out  to 
tea  at  a  neighbor's.  This  pleased  me,  for  I  am  al 
ways  happy  in  their  company,  and  they  in  mine. 
When  bed-time  came  I  undressed  them  and  they  knelt 
by  my  knees  and  said  their  prayers ;  one  of  them  was 
soon  asleep,  but  the  other  lingered  and  said, 
"  Gran  'pa,  when  papa  comes  home  please  tell  him  I 
love  him. "  "  Yes,  I  will, ' '  said  I ;  "  what  must  I  tell 
your  mamma?"  She  closed  her  eyes  and  said, 
"Nothing— she  knows  I  love  her."  That  expresses 
it.  That  child's  father  loves  those  little  girls  dearly, 
but  he  keeps  a  drug  store  and  is  the  prescription 
partner.  He  goes  to  the  store  before  his  children 
get  up;  he  has  but  an  hour  with  them  at  noon,  and 
has  to  return  to  the  store  soon  after  supper.  No 
wonder  these  little  girls  want  him  to  know  that  they 
love  him.  Boys  are  very  different,  and  when  they 
get  up  in  their  teens  mothers  lose  their  influence. 
Some  say  it  is  bad  associates.  Of  course  that  has 
something  to  do  with  it,  but  Cain  didn't  have  any 
that  we  know  of  and  yet  he  killed  his  brother.  En 
vironment  is  a  big  word,  but  it  covers  everything 
that  a  boy  inherits  or  that  he  gets  from  association. 
One  day  a  friend  of  mine,  a  Hebrew,  said  to  me, 
"Major,  I  perlieve  you  does  love  your  shildurn  bet- 


BILL    ARP.  345 

ter  dan  anybody  in  de  town."  "Oh,  no,  I  reckon 
not, ' '  said  I ;  "  don 't  you  love  your  children  ? "  "  Vy, 
yes,  of  course ;  but  I  pelieve  you  would  die  for  your 
shildurn."  "Wouldn't  you  die  for  yours !"  said  I. 
He  pondered  a  while.  "Yes,  I  pelieve  I  vould;  dat 
is,  for  all— except  Frank. "  Frank  was  his  bad  boy 
and  gave  him  trouble ;  but  Frank  turned  out  to  be  a 
good  boy  and  is  one  of  the  best  citizens  of  Atlanta. 

One  of  my  best  old-time  friends  was  a  Norwegian, 
and  was  killed  during  the  war.  He  had  some  good, 
amiable  daughters,  and  had  two  sons  who  were  bad, 
very  bad,  and  as  I  was  mayor  of  the  town  they  gave 
me  trouble.  Their  father  was  a  member  of  the  coun 
cil,  an  elder  in  my  church,  and  I  had  favored  his 
boys  as  much  as  possible ;  but  one  night  just  before 
Christmas  they  broke  into  a  hardware  store  and 
stole  a  keg  of  powder  and  hid  it  in  their  stable  loft. 
They  had  planned  to  blow  up  the  calaboose.  The 
city  marshal  (old  Sam  Stewart)  found  it  and  ar 
rested  the  boys  and  brought  them  before  me  for  trial. 
I  put  it  off  until  the  next  morning.  That  night  I  went 
to  see  the  father  and  mother.  She  cried,  of  course, 
and  he  choked  up  as  he  talked.  ' '  Mine  goot  friend— 
I  has  been  prayin'  over  dis  ting  about  mine  poys,  and 
it  seems  to  me  de  goot  Lord  say  mine  poys  is  goin'  to 
queet.  Dey  take  it  all  from  me.  I  has  been  in  de 
calaboose  in  Stockholm  a  hundred  times,  but  von  day 
I  queet.  I  shust  queet  right  off  all  a  sudden,  and  I 
pelieve  if  you  will  try  my  boys  one  more  time  dey 
will  queet."  And  sure  enough,  they  did  quit,  and 
grew  up  to  a  good  manhood.  One  of  them  is  the 
cashier  of  the  largest  bank  in  Memphis  and  the  other 
the  head  of  a  hardware  store  in  Louisville,  Ky. 
Sometimes  I  think  that  it  is  the  halo  of  a  mother's 
prayers  that  reclaims  many  °  wayward  boy.  If  the 


346  BILL    AKP. 

young  man  would  only  stop  and  think— think  of  the 
watches  of  the  night,  when  he  was  a  teething  infant, 
tugging  at  an  empty  breast  for  milk,  while  the  poor 
tired  mother  changed  him  from  side  to  side  and 
longed  for  the  morning.  I  have  wondered  how  they 
survived  it  and  why  they  would  go  through  the  or 
deal  again.  A  man  wouldn't,  and  not  all  of  them 
will  help  and  comfort  the  mother  when  she  feels  for 
the  first  time  her  first-born's  breath.  But  we  must 
not  give  up  the  boys.  Maybe  they  will,  like  the  prod 
igal  son,  come  to  themselves  and  "queet." 


BILL    ARP.  347 


CHAPTER  LI. 


GOOD  PEOPLE,  BUT  THEY  DON'T  UNDERSTAND. 

"Keokuk,  Iowa,  September  15,  1902.— Major 
Charles  H.  Smith,  Cartersville,  Ga.— Dear  Sir:  For 
several  years  past  I  have  been  reading  your  letters.  I 
like  very  much  your  writings  about  the  home  life,  the 
everyday  events  and  the  many  little  incidents  of  your 
experience,  looking  backward  over  a  long  and  busy 
career. 

"  Although  a  stranger,  of  opposite  politics,  and 
with  many  different  views  of  life,  still  your  words 
have  interested  me  and  have  so  many  times  touched 
my  heart  that  I  want  to  write  to  you  my  appreciation. 
I  wish  you  could  visit  Iowa — go  over  it  from  the 
Mississippi  to  the  Missouri  river  and  meet  the  people 
of  a  Eepublican  State.  You  would,  no  doubt,  soften 
your  writings  about  the  '  Northerners. '  You  would 
find  as  warm-hearted  and  generous  a  people  as  you 
have  in  Georgia. 

"You  would  find  a  people  that  average  in  intelli 
gence  with  any  people  on  earth.  If  you  could  inter 
view  the  fathers,  mothers,  brothers,  sisters  or  wives 
of  those  who  had  fallen  in  the  war  of  the  rebellion, 
you  would  not  find  bitter  resentment ;  you  would  not 
find  that  these  men,  who  had  given  their  lives,  had 
done  so  with  any  hatred  toward  their  Southern  breth 
ren,  but  you  would  find  that  the  great  reason  for 
their  sacrifice  was  in  the  cause  of  the  union  of  all 
parts  of  this  great  country  and  liberty  for  all  hu 
manity.  This  is  Northern  sentiment,  and  God,  who 


348  BILL   ARP. 

rules  wisely,  ordered  that  the  result  should  be  as  it  is. 
"It  is  certainly  a  great  curse  to  have  so  many 
illiterate,  low-lived  negroes  in  your  State ;  but  how 
true  is  the  Bible,  that  you  revere,  when  it  says,  '  The 
sins  of  the  fathers  shall  be  visited  upon  the  children 
unto  the  third  and  fourth  generations.'  To  my 
mind,  the  '  forefathers '  of  Georgia  sinned  in  purchas 
ing  and  owning  slaves,  and  now  their  children's 
children  suffer  the  consequences. 

"I  trust  you  will  receive  these  words  as  they  are 
meant,  with  the  greatest  kindness  and  good  will,  and 
I  wish  you  many  more  years  of  happiness  with  your 
good  wife,  children  and  grandchildren,  and  further 
hope  that  'Bill  Arp's  Letter'  will  continue  to  visit  us 
for  very  many  years  to  come. ' ' 

This  is  a  good  letter.  A  good  man  wrote  it.  I 
could  neighbor  with  him  and  his  folks  and  never  say 
a  word  to  give  him  offense.  But  I  would  teach 
them  something  they  do  not  know— teach  them  gen 
tly,  line  upon  line,  precept  upon  precept— here  a  little 
and  there  a  little.  Now,  here  is  a  gentleman  of  more 
than  ordinary  intelligence  and  education  who  does 
not  know  that  the  sin  of  slavery  began  in  New  Eng 
land  among  his  forefathers— not  ours— and  from 
there  was  gradually  crowded  southward  until  it  got 
to  Georgia,  and  that  Georgia  was  the  first  State  to 
prohibit  their  importation.  See  Appleton's  Cyclo 
pedia  (Slavery  and  the  Slave  Trade).  He  does  not 
know  that  long  after  New  England  and  New  York 
had  abolished  slavery  their  merchantmen  continued 
to  trade  with  Africa  and  sold  their  cargoes  secretly 
along  the  coast,  and  never  did  but  one  reach  Georgia, 
and  that  one,  '  '  The  Wanderer, ' '  was  seized  and  con 
fiscated  and  its  officers  arrested.  "The  Wanderer" 
was  built  at  Eastport,  in  Maine,  was  equipped  as  a 


BILL   AKP.  349 

slaver  in  New  York  and  officered  there  and  a  crew 
employed.  He  does  not  know  that  Judge  Story, 
chief  justice  of  the  United  States  Supreme  Court, 
when  presiding  in  Boston  in  1834,  charged  the  grand 
jury  that  although  Massachusetts  had  freed  their 
slaves,  yet  the  slave  trade  with  Africa  was  still  going 
on  and  Boston  merchants  and  Boston  Christians 
were  steeped  to  their  eyebrows  in  its  infamy.  He 
does  not  know  that  when  our  national  existence  be 
gan  the  feeling  against  slavery  was  stronger  in  the 
Southern  States  than  in  the  Northern.  Georgia  was 
the  first  to  prohibit  it,  but  later  on  the  prohibition 
was  repealed.  New  England  carried  on  the  traffic 
until  1845— and  is  doing  it  yet  if  they  can  find  a  mar 
ket  and  can  get  the  rum  to  pay  for  them.  The  last 
record  of  a  slaver  caught  in  the  act  was  in  1861,  off 
the  coast  of  Madagascar,  and  it  was  an  Eastport  ves 
sel.  The  slave  trade  with  Africa  was  for  more  than 
a  century  a  favorite  and  popular  venture  with  our 
English  ancestors.  King  James  II.  and  King  Charles 
II.  and  Queen  Elizabeth  all  had  stock  in  it,  and 
though  Wilberf orce  and  others  had  laws  passed  to 
suppress  it  they  could  not  do  it.  New  England  and 
old  England  secretly  carried  it  on  (see  Appleton) 
long  after  slavery  was  abolished  in  the  colonies. 
They  could  afford  to  lose  half  their  vessels  and  still 
make  money. 

No,  no,  my  friend.  If  slavery  was  a  sin  at  all, 
which  I  deny,  it  was  not  our  sin,  nor  that  of  our 
fathers,  nor  were  we  cursed  with  so  many  illiterate, 
low-lived  negroes  as  you  suppose.  Our  slaves  were 
not  educated  in  books  as  they  were  in  manners  and 
morals  and  industry,  and,  mark  you,  there  was  not 
a  heinous  crime  committed  by  them  from  the  Poto 
mac  to  the  Rio  Grande.  We  did  not  have  a  chain- 


350  BILL    AKP. 

gang  nor  a  convict  in  all  of  the  land,  and  now  there 
are  4,400  in  the  State  of  Georgia.  Who  is  responsi 
ble  for  that!  General  Henry  B.  Jackson  said  in  the 
great  address  he  delivered  in  Atlanta  in  1881: 
"During  the  four  years  of  war,  when  our  men  were 
far  away  from  home,  and  their  wives  and  daughters 
had  no  protectors  but  their  slaves,  there  was  not  an 
outrage  committed  in  all  the  Southland.  Where  does 
history  present  a  like  development  of  loyalty!  Does 
it  not  speak  volumes  for  the  humanity  of  the  master 
and  the  devotion  of  the  slave !  If  I  had  power  to  in 
dulge  my  emotional  nature  I  would  erect  somewhere 
in  the  center  of  this  Southland  a  shaft,  which  should 
rise  above  all  monuments  and  strike  the  stars  with 
its  sublime  head,  and  on  it  I  would  inscribe,  "To  the 
loyalty  of  the  slaves  of  the  Confederate  States  dur 
ing  the  years  '62,  '63,  and  '64." 

But  this  will  do  for  the  first  lesson  to  my  friend. 
It  may  take  some  time— weeks  or  months— for  us  to 
harmonize,  and  we  will  not  until  we  get  the  facts 
straight,  but  I  know  that  he  is  a  gentleman  and  I 
think  more  of  Iowa  and  her  people  since  I  received 
his  letter. 

But  my  friend  is  lamentably  ignorant  about  the 
condition  of  our  negroes  before  the  war  and  their 
condition  now.  I  must  resent  any  slanders  upon  our 
slaves.  They  were  not  low-lived.  They  were  affec 
tionate  and  loyal.  I  believe  that  our  family  servants 
would  have  died  for  my  wife,  or  for  me  or  our  chil 
dren.  They  were  born  hers  and  expect  to  die  hers. 
Tip  was  my  trusted  servant  during  the  war  and 
was  twice  captured  and  twice  escaped,  the  last  time 
swimming  the  Coosa  river  in  the  night.  But  I  have 
done  for  this  time,  for  I  am  not  well  and  the  doctor 
says  I  must  not  strain  my  mind. 


BILL    ARP.  351 


CHAPTER  LIL 


AFRICAN  SLAVERY— ITS  ORIGIN. 

Wanted.— In  1881  General  Henry  R.  Jackson,  of 
Savannah,  delivered  in  Atlanta  the  most  notable,  in 
structive  and  eloquent  address  that  has  ever  been 
heard  in  Georgia  since  the  civil  war.  The  subject 
was  "The  Wanderer,"  a  slave  ship  that  landed  on 
the  Georgia  coast  in  1858.  But  the  whole  address  was 
an  historical  recital  of  many  political  events  that  led 
to  the  civil  war  and  of  which  the  generation  that  has 
grown  up  since  were  profoundly  ignorant  and  still 
are.  It  was  delivered  by  request  of  the  Young  Men's 
Library  Association,  when  Henry  Grady  was  its 
chairman,  and  I  supposed  was  published  in  pamphlet 
form  and  could  be  had  on  application.  But  I  have 
sought  in  vain  to  find  a  copy.  I  have  a  newspaper 
copy  but  it  has  been  worn  to  the  quick  and  is  almost 
illegible.  I  wrote  to  Judge  Pope  Barrow,  who  is 
General  Jackson's  executor,  and  he  can  find  none 
among  the  General's  papers.  Can  any  veteran  fur 
nish  me  a  copy? 

I  would  also  be  pleased  to  obtain  a  copy  of  Daniel 
Webster's  speech  at  Capon  Springs,  which  was  sup 
pressed  by  his  publishers  and  to  which  General  Jack 
son  makes  allusion.  General  Jackson  was  a  great 
man.  He  won  his  military  laurels  in  the  war  with 
Mexico.  He  was  assistant  attorney-general  under 
Buchanan,  when  Jeremiah  Black  was  the  chief.  He 
was  the  vigilant,  determined,  conscientious  prosecu 
tor  of  those  who  owned  and  equipped  and  officered 


352  BILL   AKP. 

the  only  slave  ship  that  ever  landed  on  the  Georgia 
coast.  He  was  a  man  of  splendid  culture  and  a  poet 
of  ability  and  reputation.  Strange  it  is  that  this  mag 
nificent  address  has  not  been  compiled  in  the  appen 
dix  of  some  Southern  history  as  a  land  mark  for  the 
present  generation.  It  is  sad  and  mortifying  that  our 
young  and  middle-aged  men  and  our  graduates  from 
Southern  colleges  know  so  little  of  our  ante-bellum 
history.  The  Northern  people  are  equally  ignorant 
of  the  origin  of  slavery  and  the  real  causes  that  pre 
cipitated  the  civil  war.  Most  of  them  have  a  vague 
idea  that  slavery  was  born  and  just  grew  up  in  the 
South— came  up  out  of  the  ground  like  the  seventeen- 
year-old  locusts— and  was  our  sin  and  our  curse. 

Not  one  in  ten  thousand  will  believe  that  the  South 
never  imported  a  slave  from  Africa,  but  got  all  we 
had  by  purchase  from  our  Northern  brethren.  I 
would  wager  a  thousand  dollars  against  ten  that  not 
a  man  under  fifty  nor  a  schoolboy  who  lives  north 
of  the  line  knows  or  believes  that  General  Grant, 
their  great  military  hero  and  idol,  was  a  slaveholder 
and  lived  off  of  their  hire  and  their  services  while 
he  was  fighting  us  about  ours.  Lincoln's  proclama 
tion  of  freedom  came  in  1863,  but  General  Grant  paid 
no  attention  to  it.  He  continued  to  use  them  as  slaves 
until  January,  1865.  (See  his  biography  by  General 
James  Grant  Wilson  in  Appleton's  Encyclopedia.) 
General  Grant  owned  these  slaves  in  St.  Louis,  Mo., 
where  he  lived.  He  was  a  bad  manager,  and  just 
before  the  war  began  he  moved  to  Galena  and  went 
to  work  for  his  brother  in  the  tanyard.  While  there 
he  caught  the  war  fever  and  got  a  good  position  un 
der  Lincoln,  but  had  he  remained  in  St.  Louis  would 
have  greatly  preferred  one  on  our  side.  So  said  Mrs. 


BILL    ARP.  353 

Grant  a  few  years  ago  to  a  newspaper  editor  in  St. 
Augustine. 

How  many  of  this  generation,  North  or  South, 
know,  or  will  believe  that  as  late  as  November,  1861, 
Nathaniel  Gordon,  master  of  a  New  England  slave 
ship  called  the  Erie,  was  convicted  in  New  York  City 
of  carrying  on  the  slave  trade?  (See  Appleton.) 
Just  think  of  it  and  wonder !  In  1861  our  Northern 
brethren  made  war  upon  us  because  we  enslaved  the 
negroes  we  had  bought  from  them;  but  at  the  same 
time  they  kept  on  bringing  more  from  Africa  and 
begging  us  to  buy  them.  How  many  know  that  Eng 
land,  our  mother  country,  never  emancipated  her 
slaves  until  1843,  when  twelve  millions  were  set  free 
in  the  East  Indies  and  one  hundred  millions  of  dol 
lars  paid  to  their  owners  by  act  of  Parliament?  It 
is  only  within  the  last  half  century  that  the  importa 
tion  of  slaves  from  Africa  has  generally  ceased.  Up 
to  that  time  every  civilized  country  bought  them  and 
enslaved  them.  English  statesmen  and  clergymen 
said  it  was  better  to  bring  them  away  than  to  have 
them  continue  in  their  barbarism  and  cannibalism. 
And  it  was  better.  I  believe  it  was  God's  providence 
that  they  should  be  brought  away  and  placed  in  slav 
ery,  but  the  way  it  was  done  was  inhuman  and 
brutal. 

The  horrors  of  the  middle  passage,  as  the  ocean 
voyage  was  called,  is  the  most  awful  narrative  I  ever 
read  and  reminds  me  of  Dante 's  ' '  Inferno. ' '  About 
half  the  cargo  survived,  and  the  dead  and  dying 
were  tumbled  into  the  sea.  The  owners  said:  "We 
can  afford  to  lose  half  and  still  have  a  thousand  per 
cent,  profit."  Eev.  John  Newton,  one  of  the  sweet 
est  poets  who  ever  wrote  a  hymn,  the  author  of 

(23) 


354  BILL   ARP. 

"Amazing  grace,  how  sweet  the  sound,  that  saved  a 
wretch  like  me,"  "Savior,  visit  thy  plantation," 
"Safely  through  another  week,"  and  many  others, 
was  for  many  years  a  deck  hand  on  a  slave  ship  and 
saw  all  its  horrors.  He  became  converted,  but  soon 
after  became  captain  of  a  slaver  and  for  four  years 
pursued  it  diligently  and  mitigated  its  cruelty.  Then 
he  quit  and  went  to  preaching,  and  says  in  his  auto 
biography  that  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  there 
was  anything  wrong  or  immoral  in  the  slave  trade 
when  it  was  humanely  conducted.  The  Savior  said : 
"Offenses  must  needs  come,  but  woe  unto  them  by 
whom  they  come. ' ' 

In  Appleton's  long  and  exhaustive  article  on 
slavery  it  is  said  that  slavery  in  some  form  has 
existed  ever  since  human  history  began.  And  it  ap 
pears  to  have  been  under  the  sanction  of  Providence 
as  far  back  as  the  days  of  Noah  and  Abraham.  The 
latter  had  a  very  great  household  and  many  servants 
whom  he  had  bought  with  his  money.  The  word 
"slave"  appears  but  twice  in  the  Bible.  It  is  syn 
onymous  with  servant  and  bondsman.  There  has 
been  no  time  since  the  Christian  era  that  the  domi 
nant  nations  have  not  owned  slaves— sometimes  the 
bondage  was  hard,  but  as  a  general  rule  the  master 
found  it  to  his  interest  to  be  kind  to  his  slaves.  As 
Bob  Toombs  said  in  his  Boston  speech:  "It  is  not  to 
our  interest  to  starve  our  slaves  any  more  than  it  is 
to  starve  our  horses  and  horned  cattle."  Shortly 
after  the  little  cargo  that  the  Wanderer  brought 
were  secretly  scattered  around  I  saw  some  of  them 
at  work  in  a  large  garden  in  Columbus,  Ga.,  and  was 
told  that  they  were  docile  and  quickly  learned  to  dig 
and  to  hoe  but  that  it  was  hard  to  teach  them  to  eat 
cooked  meat.  They  wanted  it  raw  and  bloody.  They 


BILL   AEP.  355 

were  miserable  little  runts,  t '  Guinea  negroes, ' '  with 
thick  lips  and  flat  noses ;  but  they  grew  up  into  bet 
ter  shape  and  made  good  servants  and  I  know  were 
far  better  off  than  in  their  native  jungles,  the  prey 
for  stronger  tribes  and  made  food  for  cannibals. 

No,  there  was  no  sin  in  slavery  as  instituted  in  the 
South  by  our  fathers  and  forefathers,  and  that  is 
why  I  write  this  letter— perhaps  the  last  I  shall  ever 
write  on  this  subject.  I  wish  to  impress  it  upon 
our  boys  and  girls  so  that  they  may  be  ready  and 
willing  to  defend  their  Southern  ancestors  from  the 
baseless  charge  of  suffering  now  for  the  sins  of  their 
fathers. 


356  BILL   ARP. 


CHAPTER  LIU. 


CHILDREN  A  HERITAGE  FROM  THE  LORD. 

Lord  Bacon  said  that  children  are  hostages  to  for 
tune  and  impediments  to  great  enterprises.  He  had 
none  to  trouble  him  and  no  doubt  found  more  time 
to  study  and  become  a  great  man,  but  his  philosoph 
ical  attainments  did  not  save  him  from  disgrace. 
Perhaps  some  children  would  have  saved  him,  even 
though  the  world  would  have  lost  his  philosophy. 
Shakespeare  had  but  one  son,  and  he  died  in  early 
youth  and  the  family  name  became  extinct  in  the 
second  generation.  Neither  Dr.  Johnson  nor  Charles 
Lamb  nor  Hood  nor  Tom  Moore  left  children,  and 
Burns  only  two.  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  never  mar 
ried,  nor  was  Pope  or  Goldsmith  or  Whitfield.  By 
ron  had  one  child,  a  daughter.  Calvin  married  a 
widow  with  four  children,  but  died  without  any  of 
his  own.  John  Wesley  married  a  widow,  but  she  ran 
away  from  him  three  times.  The  last  time  he 
wouldn't  let  her  come  back,  but  wrote:  "I  did  not 
forsake  her;  I  did  not  expel  her;  I  will  not  recall 
her. 9 '  Martin  Luther  married  a  nun,  as  he  said :  ' '  To 
please  his  father  and  tease  the  pope  and  vex  the 
devil. ' '  I  have  noticed  in  my  reading  that  almost  all 
the  great  thinkers,  philosophers  and  statesmen  died 
childless  or  left  but  one  or  two  children.  Washing 
ton  had  none,  nor  General  Jackson  nor  Polk  nor 
Madison.  Pierce  had  only  two,  but  they  died  before 
he  did.  '  Neither  Jefferson  nor  Monroe  left  any  son. 
Webster  left  one ;  he  was  killed  at  Bull  Bun  and  the 


BILL   AEP.  357 

family  name  dropped  out.  John  Kandolph  was  never 
married,  and  Poe  left  no  children.  Neither  Toombs 
nor  Governor  Troup  left  any  son,  and  Alexander 
Stephens  was  never  married.  Dr.  Miller  died  child 
less  and  the  family  name  dropped  out. 

There  is  something  sad  and  melancholy  in  noting 
the  dropping  out  of  a  noble  family  name  for  lack  of 
children.  Now  it  is  more  than  probable  that  these 
great  men  would  not  have  acquired  fame  or  left  to 
mankind  the  benefit  of  their  great  achievements  if 
numerous  children  had  been  born  to  them  and  they 
had  had  to  scuffle  to  maintain  and  educate  them.  If 
a  father  does  his  duty  by  his  children  he  will  hardly 
have  time  to  acquire  either  fame  or  fortune.  We 
know  from  experience  at  our  house  that  it  is  an  anx 
ious,  earnest  struggle  to  raise  ten  children  in  a  way 
that  will  make  them  love  us  and  love  home  and  cher 
ish  the  memories  of  their  youthful  days.  It  is  said 
for  a  man  or  a  woman  to  have  to  look  back  to  a  hard, 
unhappy  childhood.  But  which  is  best  for  a  man- 
children  or  great  enterprises?  The  one  is  a  com 
pliance  with  nature  and  the  divine  law— the  other  a 
gratification  of  man's  selfish  ambition.  The  proper 
raising  of  a  family  of  children  is  the  biggest  thing 
in  this  life.  In  many  cases  marriages  are  unhappy 
and  the  children  a  curse,  but  there  is  no  good  excuse 
for  the  average  man  not  seeking  a  mate.  Of  course 
there  are  exceptions,  but  the  universal  law  is  that 
woman  was  created  for  man  and  that  her  highest 
duty  is  to  be  a  mother  to  his  children.  No  wife  is 
happy  without  children. 

Children  are  a  heritage  from  the  Lord,  and  no 
body  but  the  Lord  knows  where  they  came  from  or 
why  they  came  at  all.  David  says:  "Blessed  is  he 
who  hath  his  quiver  full. ' '  A  child  should  be  taught 


358  BILL   ARP. 

early  that  he  or  she  was  created  in  the  image  of  God. 
The  Bible  says  so.  It  will  beget  a  self-respect  and 
perhaps  prevent  intemperance  and  bad  conduct. 

When  King  Henry  II.  was  making  a  tour  of  his 
kingdom  his  subjects  met  him  on  the  way  and  gave 
him  great  ovations  and  made  presents  to  him  and 
his  courtiers,  but  one  humble  peasant  came  and 
brought  nothing.  Count  Abensberry  said  to  him: 
"What  have  you  got  to  present  to  his  majesty,  the 
king  ? ' '  "  Nothing, ' '  said  he ;  "  nothing  but  my  chil 
dren,"  and  he  then  marched  them  out  and  caused 
them  to  salute  him.  There  were  twenty-two  of  them, 
and  he  said:  "May  it  please  your  majesty,  these  are 
my  treasures— the  children  of  two  mothers.  They 
are  all  farmers  and  raise  produce  for  your  subjects 
in  peace  and  will  defend  you  in  war."  The  king 
gave  him  a  goodly  present  and  his  blessing  and  said 
to  his  courtiers :  "This  poor  man's  gift  is  the  richest 
that  I  have  yet  found. ' ' 

But  I  don't  believe  in  twenty-two  children  in  one 
family.  Ten  are  enough.  If  the  number  could  be 
regulated  I  would  say  that  six  or  eight  would  be  a 
good  average;  but  we  have  none  to  spare  at  our 
house.  One  child  is  better  than  none,  but  if  that  one 
be  lost  there  is  none  to  cling  to  or  caress  and  the 
home  is  desoluate.  One  child  is  apt  to  be  spoiled  and 
selfish.  The  best  thing  for  a  lone  boy  who  is  over 
indulged  at  home  is  to  send  him  to  school  early  and 
let  him  get  a  licking  now  and  then  from  other  boys 
until  he  learns  to  give  and  take.  Two  boys  are  far 
better  than  one,  for  they  can  be  companions  and  help 
one  another.  Two  daughters  are  better  than  one,  for 
they  can  counsel  each  other  and  go  around  and  visit 
together  and  keep  each  other's  little  secrets.  A  num 
erous  flock  of  children  strengthens  the  family  and 


BILL   AEP.  359 

makes  it  more  respectable  in  the  community.  It 
makes  it  strong  and  influential  in  the  church  and 
Sabbath-school.  By  and  by  the  children  get  married 
and  that  bring  in  more  strength  to  the  family. 

Then  again  there  is  economy  in  it,  for  the  good 
mother  can  hand  down  many  of  the  garments  of  the 
older  ones  to  the  younger.  If  the  outside  ones  are 
too  much  worn,  there  are  lots  of  little  petticoats  and 
drawers  and  out-grown  pants  that  come  in  handy. 
My  wife  says  that  these  " hand-me-downs/'  as  she 
calls  them,  have  saved  her  many  a  weary  stitch.  I 
know  a  little  handsome  grandson  who  is  now  wearing 
a  nice  suit  made  of  a  discarded  cloak  of  mine.  An 
other  advantage  is  that  the  older  ones  can  help  the 
younger  in  their  lessons,  and  this  has  saved  my  wife 
and  me  lots  of  time  and  perplexing  care.  And  so,  al 
though  the  oldest  boy  or  girl  gets  no  hand-downs 
but  has  every  garment  span  new,  they  have  to  help 
the  younger  ones  in  various  ways— even  to  nursing 
the  baby  when  mother  is  sick  or  busy.  There  is  no 
law  of  primogeniture  in  this  country;  no  English 
law  that  gives  the  paternal  estate  to  the  first  born; 
but  all  have  to  share  and  share  alike  and  contribute 
to  the  family  welfare.  From  my  window  I  see  my 
neighbor's  boys  working  the  garden,  and  they  have 
a  good  one  and  take  a  pride  in  it.  They  find  ample 
time  to  go  to  school  and  to  play  ball,  but  will  not 
neglect  the  garden. 

But  alas !  there  is  a  shadow  over  every  large  fam 
ily.  The  time  will  surely  come  when  it  will  be  broken 
up— either  by  marriage  of  the  children  or  emigra 
tion  of  the  boys  to  some  distant  region.  When  they 
leave  us  for  good  the  father  is  sad  and  the  mother's 
eyes  are  often  dimmed  with  tears.  For  two  years 
we  have  not  seen  our  youngest  boy,  who  cast  his 


360  BILL    ARP. 

fortunes  with  a  companion  in  the  City  of  Mexico. 
But  he  is  coming  soon  and  the  mother  is  waiting, 
hopefully  and  prayerfully  waiting.  We  have  one  in 
New  York,  one  in  Texas,  and  one  in  Florida,  but 
they  are  good  to  write  to  us  and  cheer  us  up,  and 
there  is  no  blight  or  cloud  over  them.  What  a  com 
fort  there  is  in  good  loving  letters  from  far-off  chil 
dren.  A  good  mother  writes  me  that  her  married 
daughter  lives  in  Australia  and  her  monthly  letters 
are  her  greatest  blessing.  I  know  of  nothing  that 
pays  such  good  dividends  upon  its  cost  as  a  loving 
letter  from  an  absent  child  or  from  a  far-off  friend. 
Only  a  little  spare  time  and  two  cents  will  bring 
pleasure  that  money  cannot  buy— more  than  ever 
have  I  noticed  this  since  I  have  been  sick.  Even  the 
sympathetic  letters  from  unknown  friends  have 
brought  me  comfort.  I  wish  I  could  answer  them  all 
and  say,  as  Paul  said  to  Timothy,  "See  how  long  a 
letter  I  have  written  to  you  with  mine  own  hand. ' ' 

P.  S.— I  have  lost  a  letter  from  a  Mr.  Lilly  and 
wish  he  would  send  me  his  address  again.  I  have 
found  his  book. 


BILL    ARP.  361 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


WILLIAM  AND  His  WIFE  VISIT  THE  CITY. 

The  old  carpet  in  the  family  room  has  been  down 
and  up  and  up  and  down  for  seventeen  years.  It 
has  been  the  best  carpet  we  ever  had.  It  used  to  be 
the  parlor  carpet  but  was  reduced  to  a  lower  rank 
a  long  time  ago.  Time  and  children  and  dogs  and 
cats  and  brooms  have  worked  on  it  until  it  is  faded 
and  slick  and  threadbare.  The  colors  are  gone  and 
so  are  the  figures  and  the  fuz  and  the  nap,  but  it  is 
a  carpet  still.  It  has  been  taken  up  and  hung  on  the 
fence  and  beaten  with  thrash  poles  about  seventeen 
times,  and  yet  there  is  not  a  hole  in  it.  In  its  aristo 
cratic  days  it  bore  the  burden  of  aristocratic  shoes 
and  fancy  slippers,  and  music  and  song  and  love 
making  and  the  parlor  dance,  and  the  family  wed 
dings.  Its  downy  flowers  treasured  many  a  secret 
and  many  a  joy.  But  in  course  of  time  it  ceased  to 
be  the  pride  of  the  family  and  became  its  servant. 
We  have  raised  children  on  that  carpet— rough  boys 
and  romping  girls.  We  have  raised  dogs  and  cats. 
It  has  been  the  mudsills  of  a  nursery  and  a  menage 
rie  and  a  schoolroom  and  a  circus.  As  its  colors  dis 
appeared  in  the  middle  and  around  the  hearthstone, 
Mrs.  Arp  would  take  it  up  and  change  corners  and 
bring  to  the  front  a  brighter  portion  that  lay  hidden 
under  the  bed  and  the  bureau  and  the  sofa.  She  has 
done  this  so  often  that  there  is  little  difference  now. 
Every  part  has  traveled  the  grand  rounds  over  and 
over  again. 


362  BILL   AEP. 

Mrs.  Arp  has  been  hinting  about  a  new  carpet  for 
some  time.  We  could  do  without  it  if  I  couldn't 
afford  it,  she  said,  and  I  must  have  a  talma  cloak 
anyhow,  and  the  children  needed  so  many  things,  but 
she  didn  't  want  anything  for  herself.  Of  course  she 
didn't.  I  didn't  give  her  a  chance.  I  keep  her  sup 
plied.  I  never  said  anything— I  just  looked  into  the 
fire  and  ruminated.  She  knows  my  weakness.  It's 
all  honey  and  sugar  and  a  little  flattery  thrown  in. 
When  it  comes  to  driving  and  bulldozing  I  am  an 
austere  man,  I  am,  and  she  knows  it. 

She  said  last  week  that  she  had  promised  Ealph 
to  go  down  to  Atlanta  and  see  him,  and  while  there 
she  could  get  a  cloak  and  some  little  things  for  the 
children  for  Christmas.  "I'll  go  with  you,"  said  I. 
"I  wish  to  see  Ealph,  too,  and  keep  him  encouraged. 
I  think  he  will  make  a  pretty  good  doctor  in  ten  or 
fifteen  years,  if  he  keeps  on  studying  and  cutting  up 
stiffs  and  holding  the  candle  for  Dr.  Westmoreland. 
He  uses  powerful  big  words  now  for  a  boy  his  size. 
He  talks  about  anesthetics  and  antiskeptics,  and  the 
like. "  It  wasn't  much  trouble  to  get  her  off,  and  she 
never  said  nary  time  that  she  had  nothing  to  wear. 
She  has  just  got  past  that  at  last.  We  took  one  of 
the  girls  along  as  a  chaperone,  for  my  wife  and  I 
haven't  kept  up  with  city  style  and  street  behavior 
and  how  to  shop  and  look  at  fine  things  like  we  were 
used  to  them.  We  had  hardly  got  off  the  cars  when 
she  met  an  old  friend  and  hugged  and  kissed  her, 
and  they  got  to  talking  about  old  times  and  some 
body  that  was  dead,  and  my  wife  she  got  full  in  the 
throat  and  watery  in  the  eyes,  and  they  blocked  up 
the  sidewalk  and  everybody  had  to  walk  around 
them,  and  so  to  prevent  a  scene  our  chaperone  dis 
solved  the  interview  and  we  hurried  on  to  White- 


BILL    AKP.  363 

hal.  It  lias  been  built  up  wonderfully  since  Mrs. 
Arp  was  there,  and  the  show  windows  are  just  beau 
tiful  beyond  description.  She  stopped  squarely  be 
fore  the  first  jewelry  store  and  feasted  her  hazel  eyes 
in  rapturous  amazement.  "Did  you  ever  in  your 
life?  Isn't  that  perfectly  lovely?  Do  look  at  that  lit 
tle  cherub  swinging  to  that  clock  for  a  pendulum.  I 
wonder  if  those  are  real  diamonds  in  those  brooches. 
Oh,  my !  see  that  beautiful  breastpin.  Wouldent  Jes 
sie  love  to  wear  that.  Poor  thing,  she  has  never  had 
a  nice  pin."  The  chaperone  began  to  take  on  a  lit 
tle,  too,  and  the  passing  crowd  had  to  go  round  us 
again,  and  some  of  them  looked  back  and  smiled, 
and  that  made  her  mad,  and  so  I  took  my  women 
folks  away  from  there  and  remarked:  "I  wouldn't 
stop  to  look  at  everything.  People  will  think  you 
never  saw  anything  pretty  or  fine  in  your  life.  *'  Mrs. 
Arp  prouded  up  her  head  and  said:  "What  do  I 
care  for  people.  The  merchants  put  their  finest 
things  in  the  windows  to  be  looked  at,  and  I  am  going 
to  look  just  as  much  as  I  please,"  and  she  stopped 
squarely  against  another  window  and  began  the  in 
spection  of  those  lovely  ladies '  shoes.  Mrs.  Arp  goes 
perfectly  daft  on  fine  shoes— No.  2s.  Daft  is  the 
word  she  uses  on  me  sometimes,  but  I  don't  know 
wnat  it  means.  She  says  I  promised  her  thirteen 
pair  a  year  before  she  married  me.  One  pair  a 
month  and  one  pair  over.  Maybe  I  did,  but  I've  for 
gotten  all  those  things.  They  were  not  said  in  a 
lucid  interval.  ' '  Now  buy  your  shoes, ' '  said  I,  l '  and 
let  us  move  on  to  the  carpet  store ;  it  will  be  dinner 
time  directly."  She  looked  at  me  in  sweet  surprise 
and  followed  me  like  a  lamb,  for  I  hadent  mentioned 
the  carpet  before.  We  went  to  the  carpet  store,  and 
there  were  so  many  beautiful  patterns  that  she 


364  BILL    ARP. 

couldent  decide  on  any.  The  carpet  men  unrolled 
piece  after  piece,  and  sent  the  rolls  whirling  away 
down  the  room  and  then  back  again,  and  they  kept 
getting  lovelier  and  lovelier,  and  the  price  higher 
and  higher,  until  my  wife  sighed,  and  said :  ' i  Well, 
let  us  go  now ;  we  will  come  back  again  after  awhile. ' ' 
I  followed  them  around  meekly,  and,  as  we  passed  a 
French  clock,  I  pointed  to  the  hour,  and  it  was  2 
o'clock  p.  m.  "Only  an  hour  and  a  half  longer  to 
stay, ' '  said  I,  ' ( and  we  have  had  no  dinner. J '  They 
didn't  seem  to  be  worried  about  the  dinner,  and 
made  a  final  assault  upon  another  carpet  store,  and 
I  had  to  settle  it  at  last  and  make  a  choice  for  them. 
I  always  do.  I  used  to  be  a  merchant,  and  kept  the 
finest  and  prettiest  goods  in  town.  I  used  to  sell  Mrs. 
Arp  fine  dressing  when  she  was  a  miss,  and  she 
wouldent  trade  anywhere  else,  and  it  took  her  a  long 
time  to  make  up  her  mind,  and  I  had  to  make  it  up 
for  her  just  as  I  do  now.  She  never  traded  much  at 
any  other  store,  and,  to  my  opinion,  there  is  about  as 
much  courting  done  over  the  counter  by  day  as  in  the 
parlor  by  night.  After  we  were  married  she  traded 
with  me  altogether.  Thirty-six  yards  of  carpeting 
was  all  that  I  had  bargained  for  when  I  left  home, 
but  there  was  a  rug  and  a  hassock  and  two  pairs  of 
shoes  and  some  syllabub  stuff  for  ruffles  and  flounces 
and  a  few  Christmas  things,  and  by  the  time  we  got 
to  Durand's  we  had  only  twenty  minutes  for  dinner. 
We  were  all  happy  and  hungry,  too,  and  the  dinner 
was  splendid,  and  my  wife  brought  home  a  basket  of 
fruit  for  the  children,  and  she  told  them  all  about 
the  big  day's  work,  and  the  beautiful  things,  and 
whom  she  saw,  and  I  reckon  it  was  worth  the  money 
that  was  spent  and  more  too.  The  carpet  came  along 
in  due  time  all  ready  made,  and  three  of  the  children 


BILL   AEP.  365 

were  at  school,  and  didn't  know  it,  and  we  hurried  up 
and  took  everything  out  of  the  room  and  bid  farewell 
to  the  old  one,  and  cleaned  up  the  straw  and  dust,  and 
washed  up  the  floor  and  the  windows,  and  put  down 
the  paper,  and  the  carpet  on  top  of  it,  and  pulled,  and 
stretched,  and  tugged  and  tacked  until  it  was  all 
right.  Then  we  put  the  furniture  all  back  just  like  it 
was,  and  sat  down  before  the  fire  just  like  nothing 
had  happened,  and  in  about  ten  minutes  the  school 
chaps  came  singing  up  to  the  back  door  and  walked 
in  upon  us  before  they  had  time  to  look  down,  and 
it  was  worth  $5  more  to  hear  the  raptures  and  adjec 
tives  and  adverbs  and  exclamation  points  and  other 
parts  of  speech  that  they  indulged  in  when  their  won 
dering  eyes  feasted  upon  the  rich  brown  colors  under 
their  feet.  If  I  was  rich  I  would  buy  another  right 
away  just  to  have  another  good  time  with  Mrs.  Arp 
and  the  children. 

But  we  didn't  have  the  pleasure  of  Ealph'  com 
pany  at  last.  I  found  him  at  Dr.  Westmoreland's 
with  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  helping  the  doctor  to  mend 
a  man's  broken  arm.  They  had  a  little  tub  half  full 
of  plaster  paris  in  solution,  and  a  lot  of  bandage  rolls 
in  it,  getting  saturated.  They  set  the  bones  and  kept 
the  arm  pulled  straight,  while  the  bandages  were 
wrapped  from  wrist  to  elbow,  and  elbow  to  wrist, 
and  wrapped  again  and  again,  and  the  plaster 
hardened  as  fast  as  it  was  rolled  on,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  it  was  hard  as  chalk  and  nearly  half  an  inch 
thick,  and  the  man's  arm  was  in  a  vi^e.  He  was  soon 
dismissed,  and  the  doctor  said  "next."  Then  there 
was  a  man  whose  hand  was  crushed  between  the  cars, 
and  another  had  an  awful  splinter  thrust  into  his 
stomach,  and  a  child  with  a  grain  of  coffee  in  her 
lungs  and  her  throat  had  to  be  cut  open.  It  is  cutting 


366  BILL   AKP. 

and  mending  and  sewing  up  human  flesh  and  bones 
all  the  day  long,  and  blood  is  as  common  as  water. 
There  is  no  time  for  sympathy  or  tender  words.  It  is 
business— hard,  stern  business,  and  the  signal  word 
is  "next."  May  the  Lord  keep  us  all  and  preserve 
us  from  such  calamities. 


BILL   AKP.  367 


CHAPTEE  LV. 


THE  BUZZABD  LOPE. 

I'm  going  to  quit  thinking  about  the  race  problem, 
and  the  tariff,  and  Speaker  Eeed  and  John  Wana- 
maker,  and  everything  else  of  a  turbulent  and  tran 
sitory  nature.  I'm  going  to  boycott  everything  now 
except  domestic  affairs.  I'm  going  to  attend  to  my 
own  business.  I'm  going  to  stay  at  home  and  work, 
and  if  I  read  a  paper  at  all  it  will  be  with  one  eye  on 
the  head  lines  and  nothing  else. 

They  say  that  exercise  is  a  remedy  for  trouble— 
trouble  of  mind  or  trouble  of  body.  Get  up  and  move 
around  lively.  My  old  father  was  afflicted  with  rheu 
matism,  and  when  the  sharp  pains  began  to  worry 
him  he  would  take  his  long  stick  and  start  out  over 
the  farm  and  limp,  and  grunt,  and  drag  himself 
along  until  he  got  warmed  up,  and  in  an  hour  or  so 
would  come  back  feeling  better.  A  man  can  mope 
and  brood  over  his  troubles  until,  as  Cobe  says, 
"they  get  more  thicker  and  more  aggrevatiner. "  He 
told  me  that  he  had  tried  liver  medicine  and  corn 
juice  and  various  " anecdotes"  for  disease,  but  that 
a  right  good  sweat  of  perspiration  was  the  best 
thing  for  a  man  or  a  beast.  He  used  to  cure  mules 
of  the  colic  by  trotting  them  around  until  the  sweat 
come. 

I  haven't  got  the  colic  nor  the  rheumatism,  but  I 
feel  such  a  constant  uxorial  goneness  that  I  have  to 
step  around  lively  to  forget  myself.  I  feel  just  like 
I  had  lost  my  tobacco.  The  sparrows  are  regaling  on 


368  BILL    AEP. 

my  strawberries.  The  happy  mocking  birds  are 
singing  their  tee  diddle  and  too  doodle,  and  the 
lordly  peacock  screams  and  struts  and  spreads  his 
magnificent  tail,  and  all  nature  seems  gay  and  joy 
ous,  but  how  can  the  lord  of  creation  sing  a  glad 
song  when  his  lady  is  far  away  in  a  strange  land? 
A  letter  from  there  says :  ' '  Mamma  is  having  a  good 
time  and  behaving  so  nice  to  everybody. ' '  Of  course, 
of  course.  And  I'm  nice  to  everybody  here — espe 
cially  the  ladies.  Some  of  them  come  every  day- 
come  to  comfort  me,  they  say.  I'm  having  a  pretty 
good  time  considering.  We  had  some  fine  music  last 
night— some  of  the  boys  came  home  with  Carl  to 
practice  for  a  serenade  to  the  spring  chickens.  They 
had  a  guitar  and  some  harps  and  a  triangle,  and 
were  right  good  singers  besides,  and  I  enjoyed  it 
immensely.  Jessie  is  a  musician,  too,  and  when  she 
struck  the  ivory  key  with  some  salutatory  notes  like, 
1 '  Oh,  Jinny  is  your  Ash-cake  Dance, "and  ' ' The  High 
land  Fling"  and  "Bun  Nigger  Bun,"  accompanied 
by  the  sweet  harmonicas  and  the  guitar,  I  just 
couldent  keep  my  old  extremities  subdued,  and  they 
got  me  up  and  toted  me  around  on  light  fantastic 
toes  amazing.  I  was  all  by  myself  in  the  next  room, 
but  I  had  lots  of  fun.  It  does  a  man  good  sometimes 
to  unbend  himself  and  forget  his  antiquity.  I  like  a 
little  hornpipe  or  a  pigeon  wing  on  the  sly  some 
times.  It  may  be  original  sin,  or  it  may  be  that  there 
is  a  time  to  dance,  as  Solomon  says,  but  I  like  it.  My 
beard  is  growing  gray,  and  there's  not  many  hairs 
between  my  head  and  the  cerulean  heavens,  but  I'm 
obliged  to  have  some  recreation,  especially  wnen 
Mrs.  Arp  is  away.  You  ought  to  see  me  caper 
around  to  the  music  with  a  little  grand-child,  a  three- 
year-old,  who  chooses  me  for  a  partner  whenever  the 


BILL    AKP.  369 

music  begins.  She  knows  the  dancing  tunes  as  well 
as  I  do,  bless  her  little  heart.  My  boys  have  got  a 
new  step  now  that  they  call  the  "buzzard  lope"  that 
is  grand,  lively  and  peculiar.  The  story  goes  that  an 
old  darkey  lost  his  aged  mule,  and  found  him  one 
Sunday  evening  lying  dead  in  the  woods  and  forty- 
nine  buzzards  feasting  upon  his  carcass.  Forty- 
eight  of  them  flew  away,  but  the  forty-ninth,  whose 
feathers  were  gray  with  age,  declined  to  retire.  Look 
ing  straight  at  the  darkey,  he  spread  his  wings  about 
half-and-half,  like  the  American  eagle  on  a  silver 
dollar,  and  tucked  his  tail  under  his  body  and  drew 
in  his  chin  and  pulled  down  his  vest  and  began  to 
lope  around  the  dead  mule  in  a  salutatory  manner. 
He  was  a  greedy  bird  and  likes  his  meat  served 
rare,  and  rejoiced  that  he  now  had  the  carcass  all  to 
himself,  and  so  he  loped  around  with  alacrity.  The 
old  darkey  was  a  fiddler  and  dancer  by  instinct  and 
inspiration.  He  had  played  prompter  for  the  white 
folks  at  a  thousand  frolics,  and  knew  every  step  and 
turn  and  fling  of  the  heel-tap  and  the  toe,  but  he  had 
never  seen  such  a  peculiar  double  demi-semi-quiver 
shuffle  as  that  old  buzzard  loped  around  that  mule. 
He  stood  aghast.  He  spread  his  arms  just  half-and 
half,  and  bent  his  back  in  the  middle,  unlimbered  his 
ankle  joints,  stiffened  his  elbows,  and  forgetting  both 
the  day  and  the  place  he  followed  that  bird  around 
that  mule  for  four  solid  hours  and  caught  the  ex 
quisite  lope  exactly.  At  dusk  the  tired  buzzard  souzed 
his  beak  into  one  of  the  dead  mule 's  eyes  and  bore  it 
away  to  his  roost,  while  the  old  darkey  loped  all  the 
way  home  to  his  cabin  door,  feeling  ten  years  young 
er  for  his  masterpiece.  The  buzzard  lope  suits  an 
old  man  splendid,  for  it  is  best  performed  with  rheu- 

(24) 


370  BILL    AKP. 

matism  in  one  leg  and  St.  Vitus  dance  in  the  other, 
and  it  is  said  to  be  a  sovereign  remedy  for  both. 

Some  folks  don't  care  much  about  music— some 
don't  care  anything  about  dancing,  but  some  folks 
like  both  because  it  is  their  nature  and  they  can't 
help  it.  It  is  just  as  natural  for  children  to  love  to 
dance  to  the  harmony  of  sweet  sounds  as  it  is  for 
them  to  love  to  play  marbles  or  jump  the  rope,  or 
any  other  innocent  sport.  The  church  allows  its 
members  to  pat  the  foot  to  music,  but  condemns  danc 
ing  because  it  leads  to  dissipation  and  bad  company ; 
but  we  shouldn't  let  it  lead  the  young  folks  that  way. 
The  church  condemns  minstrel  shows  and  minstrel 
songs,  but  has  lately  stolen  from  them  some  of  their 
sweetest  tunes,  and  set  them  to  sacred  verse,  and  is 
all  the  better  for  it.  Who  does  not  appreciate  the 
"Lilly  of  the  Valley"  that  is  now  sung  to  the  "Cabin 
in  the  Lane?"  Puritanism,  and  penance,  and  long 
faces,  and  assumed  distress  are  passing  away.  The 
Methodist  discipline  that  forbade  jewelry,  and  orna 
ments,  and  fine  dressing  has  become  obsolete,  for  it 
was  against  nature.  What  our  Creator  has  given  us 
to  enjoy,  let  us  enjoy  in  reason  and  in  season  and  be 
all  the  more  thankful  for  His  goodness. 

I  believe  in  music.  Joseph  Henry  Lumpkin,  our 
great  chief  justice,  said  there  was  music  in  all  things 
except  the  braying  of  an  ass  or  the  tongue  of  a  scold. 
I  believe  in  the  refining  influence  of  music  over  the 
young,  and  if  an  occasional  dance  at  home  or  in  the 
parlor  of  a  friend  will  make  the  young  folks  happy, 
let  them  be  happy.  I  read  Dr.  Calhoun's  beautiful 
lecture  that  he  delivered  before  the  Atlanta  Medical 
College— a  lecture  on  the  human  throat  as  a  musical 
instrument— and  I  was  charmed  with  its  science,  its 
instruction,  and  its  literary  beauty.  I  read  part  of  it 


BILL   ARP.  371 

to  those  boys  who  were  practicing  for  the  serenade— 
about  the  wonders  of  the  human  larynx,  that  in  ordi 
nary  singers  could  produce  a  hundred  and  twenty 
different  sounds,  and  fine  singers  like  Jenny  Lind 
could  produce  a  thousand,  and  Madam  Mora,  whose 
voice  compassed  three  octaves,  could  produce  two 
thousand  one  hundred  different  notes;  and  about 
Farinelli,  who  cured  Philip  V.,  king  of  Spain,  of  a 
dreadful  malady  by  singing  to  him,  and  after  he  was 
fully  restored  he  was  afraid  of  a  relapse  and  hired 
Farinelli  to  sing  to  him  every  night  at  a  salary  of 
fifty  thousand  francs,  and  he  sang  to  him  as  David 
harped  for  Saul.  Music  fills  up  so  many  gaps  in  the 
family.  The  young  people  can't  work  and  read  and 
study  all  the  time.  They  must  have  recreation,  and 
it  is  better  to  have  it  at  home  than  hunt  for  it  else 
where.  If  the  old  folks  mope  and  grunt  and  com 
plain  around  the  house,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  chil 
dren  try  to  get  away.  And  they  will  get  away  if  they 
have  to  marry  to  do  it.  I  have  known  girls  to  marry 
very  trifling  lovers  because  they  were  tired  of  home. 
This  reminds  me  of  a  poor  fellow  who  was  hard 
pressed  by  a  creditor  to  whom  he  owed  forty  dollars. 
He  came  to  employ  us  to  get  a  homestead  for  him  so 
as  to  save  his  little  farm.  "Are  you  a  married  man?" 
said  I.  ' '  No,  I  ain  't, ' '  said  he.  l '  Well,  you  will  have 
to  get  married  before  you  can  take  a  homestead.  Is 
there  no  clever  girl  in  your  naborhood  whom  you 
have  a  liking  for?"  He  looked  straight  in  the  fire 
for  a  minute  or  more,  and  then  rose  up  and  shook 
his  long,  sandy  hair,  and  said :  i  ( Gentlemen,  the  jig 
are  up.  I'll  have  to  shindig  around  and  get  that 
money,  for  I'll  be  dogond  if  I'll  get  married  for  forty 
dollars.  Good  mornin'." 


372  BILL   AKP. 

We  are  working  hard,  now,  renovating  and  repair 
ing  the  home  inside  and  outside.  We  have  white 
washed  the  fence  all  around,  and  the  barn  and  coal- 
house,  and  chicken  house,  and  all.  We  have  painted 
the  gates  a  lovely  red,  and  striped  the  greenhouse, 
and  Carl  wanted  to  stripe  the  calf  with  the  same 
color,  as  a  meandering  ornament  to  the  lawn,  but  he 
couldn't  catch  him.  I  have  planted  out  Maderia  vines 
and  Virginia  creepers  and  tomato  plants,  and  we 
have  declared  war  against  the  English  sparrows  that 
destroy  more  strawberries  than  we  get.  We  will 
have  things  fixed  up  when  the  maternal  comes  home. 
I  reckon  she  will  come  sometimes— come  home 
spoiled  like  I  do  as  when  I  take  a  trip  off  and  am  pet 
ted  up  by  genial  friends.  It  will  take  us  a  week  to 
get  her  back  in  the  harness,  but  it  won't  take  her  half 
that  long  to  get  us  back.  We've  got  two  picnics  on 
hand,  and  a  fishing  frolic,  and  there  are  five  pretty 
girls  from  Cement  coming  here  tonight,  and  on  the 
whole  I  don't  think  I  am  as  lonesome  as  I  think  I  am. 

' i  So  here 's  a  health  to  her  who 's  away. ' ' 


BILL    ARP.  373 


CHAPTER  LVI. 


UP  AMONG  THE  STARS. 

I  was  talking  to  the  children  the  other  night  about 
astronomy,  and  I  said:  "I  am  a  traveler— a  great 
traveler.  I  have  traveled  forty  thousand  millions  of 
miles  in  my  life.  I  was  born  traveling.  I  can  beat 
railroads  and  telegraphs.  "When  I  travel  I  make  68,- 
000  miles  an  hour,  and  don't  exert  myself  a  bit.  I 
can  make  over  1,500,000  miles  in  a  day  and  turn  a 
summerset  8,000  miles  high  in  the  bargain— I  turn 
one  every  day  when  I  am  on  the  road.  I  traveled 
nearly  600,000,000  miles  last  year." 

And  so  I  made  the  children  figure  it  all  up  so  as 
to  impress  upon  them  the  immensity  of  space  and  the 
mighty  power  of  God.  I  know  an  old  man— a  lawyer 
—who  didn't  believe  in  any  of  these  things.  He  said 
it  was  not  according  to  scripture.  He  didn't  believe 
the  earth  was  round  or  that  it  turned  over.  He  said 
the  scriptures  spoke  of  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth,  and  that  Joshua  command 
ed  the  sun  to  stand  still  just  like  he  did  the  moon, 
and  they  both  stood  still.  We  used  to  argue  with 
him,  and  tell  him  that  navigators  had  sailed  all 
around  the  earth,  but  it  was  no  use,  and  we  gave 
him  up. 

I  know  lots  of  sensible  people  who  don't  believe 
that  astronomers  know  anything  about  these  immense 
distances  and  orbits  and  weights  of  the  planets. 
They  say  it  is  all  guess  work,  pretty  much,  and  that 
it  is  impossible  to  tell  how  far  it  is  from  one  place  to 


372  BILL   AKP. 

We  are  working  hard,  now,  renovating  and  repair 
ing  the  home  inside  and  outside.  We  have  white 
washed  the  fence  all  around,  and  the  barn  and  coal- 
house,  and  chicken  house,  and  all.  We  have  painted 
the  gates  a  lovely  red,  and  striped  the  greenhouse, 
and  Carl  wanted  to  stripe  the  calf  with  the  same 
color,  as  a  meandering  ornament  to  the  lawn,  but  he 
couldn't  catch  him.  I  have  planted  out  Maderia  vines 
and  Virginia  creepers  and  tomato  plants,  and  we 
have  declared  war  against  the  English  sparrows  that 
destroy  more  strawberries  than  we  get.  We  will 
have  things  fixed  up  when  the  maternal  comes  home. 
I  reckon  she  will  come  sometimes— come  home 
spoiled  like  I  do  as  when  I  take  a  trip  off  and  am  pet 
ted  up  by  genial  friends.  It  will  take  us  a  week  to 
get  her  back  in  the  harness,  but  it  won't  take  her  half 
that  long  to  get  us  back.  We've  got  two  picnics  on 
hand,  and  a  fishing  frolic,  and  there  are  five  pretty 
girls  from  Cement  coming  here  tonight,  and  on  the 
whole  I  don't  think  I  am  as  lonesome  as  I  think  I  am. 

1  i  So  here 's  a  health  to  her  who 's  away. ' ' 


BILL    ABP.  373 


CHAPTER  LVI. 


UP  AMONG  THE  STAKS. 

I  was  talking  to  the  children  the  other  night  about 
astronomy,  and  I  said:  "I  am  a  traveler— a  great 
traveler.  I  have  traveled  forty  thousand  millions  of 
miles  in  my  life.  I  was  born  traveling.  I  can  beat 
railroads  and  telegraphs.  When  I  travel  I  make  68,- 
000  miles  an  hour,  and  don't  exert  myself  a  bit.  I 
can  make  over  1,500,000  miles  in  a  day  and  turn  a 
summerset  8,000  miles  high  in  the  bargain— I  turn 
one  every  day  when  I  am  on  the  road.  I  traveled 
nearly  600,000,000  miles  last  year." 

And  so  I  made  the  children  figure  it  all  up  so  as 
to  impress  upon  them  the  immensity  of  space  and  the 
mighty  power  of  God.  I  know  an  old  man— a  lawyer 
— who  didn't  believe  in  any  of  these  things.  He  said 
it  was  not  according  to  scripture.  He  didn't  believe 
the  earth  was  round  or  that  it  turned  over.  He  said 
the  scriptures  spoke  of  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth,  and  that  Joshua  command 
ed  the  sun  to  stand  still  just  like  he  did  the  moon, 
and  they  both  stood  still.  We  used  to  argue  with 
him,  and  tell  him  that  navigators  had  sailed  all 
around  the  earth,  but  it  was  no  use,  and  we  gave 
him  up. 

I  know  lots  of  sensible  people  who  don't  believe 
that  astronomers  know  anything  about  these  immense 
distances  and  orbits  and  weights  of  the  planets. 
They  say  it  is  all  guess  work,  pretty  much,  and  that 
it  is  impossible  to  tell  how  far  it  is  from  one  place  to 


374  BILL    AKP. 

another,  or  one  planet  to  another  without  measuring 
it  with  a  chain  or  a  rod-pole  or  a  string  or  some 
thing.  And  here  is  where  a  higher  education  comes 
in  and  broadens  the  mind  and  elevates  it  to  a  higher 
plane.  There  is  no  science  so  exact  and  so  fully 
established  as  astronomy.  The  distance  from  here 
to  Atlanta  is  not  so  accurately  known  as  the  earth's 
orbit  around  the  sun.  A  great  astronomer  like 
Herschel  or  Newton  or  La  Place  can  look  through 
the  telescope  at  Jupiter's  moons  when  they  are  in  an 
eclipse,  and  then  mix  up  a  few  logarithms  and  flux 
ions  and  parallaxes  and  tell  how  fast  light  travels 
and  how  far  it  is  to  the  remotest  planet  in  the  uni 
verse. 

The  children  wanted  to  know  why  the  new  year  be 
gan  with  January,  and  I  couldent  tell  them.  Christ 
mas  would  have  been  a  better  day.  The  new  era 
should  have  begun  with  the  birth  of  Christ  instead 
of  a  week  later;  or  the  year  should  begin  with  the 
birth  of  spring— the  21st  of  March— when  nature  is 
putting  on  new  garments.  Those  old  philosophers 
got  things  awfully  mixed  up  anyhow.  Their  years 
used  to  be  measured  by  the  moon,  and  they  had 
thirteen  months,  but  that  dident  fit,  and  so  they  fell 
back  to  ten  months  of  thirty-six  days  each,  and  that 
dident  fit,  and  next  and  at  last  Pope  Gregory  fixed 
the  measure  all  right— just  as  we  have  it  now. 

It  was  only  in  the  last  century  that  the  civilized 
nations  adopted  the  new  time.  Eussia  hasent 
adopted  it  yet;  but  I  don't  know  whether  she  is  civ 
ilized  or  not. 

January  was  a  right  good  name  for  the  first  month. 
He  was  a  watchful  old  fellow  and  had  two  faces,  and 
could  look  before  him  and  behind  him  at  the  same 
time.  It  is  a  good  idea  for  a  man  to  look  back  over 


BILL    AKP.  375 

the  year  that  has  gone  and  review  his  conduct,  and 
then  look  forward  and  promise  to  do  better.  But 
most  of  the  months  were  named  for  heathen  gods 
who  never  evisted,  and  so  were  the  days  of  the  week. 
I  wish  the  school  children  would  read  about  them  and 
be  able  to  answer  what  March  means,  and  April  and 
Wednesday  and  Thursday,  and  the  other  names. 
Gather  knowledge  as  you  go  along— useful  knowl 
edge—and  store  it  away.  If  you  havent  got  the  books 
borrow  them  from  somebody  and  read.  I  asked  two 
young  men  yesterday  how  far  it  was  to  the  sun,  and 
they  had  no  idea. 

1891.  There  is  meaning  in  those  figures.  Every 
time  they  are  written  on  a  letter  head  or  a  ledger  or 
a  bank  check  or  a  note  or  a  hotel  register,  or  printed 
on  a  newspaper,  they  mean  something.  The  pens  of 
Christians  and  infidels  and  skeptics  and  agnostics 
and  Jews  and  Gentiles  are  all  writing  it  visble  and 
indelible  upon  the  paper.  Every  day,  every  hour, 
every  minute,  it  is  being  written  all  over  the  world, 
and  every  mark  establishes  a  fact — a  great  fact— 
that  1891  years  ago  there  was  a  birth— a  notable 
birth— and  old  Father  Time  began  a  new  count  and 
called  it  Anno  Domini.  What  a  wonderful  event  it 
must  have  been  that  closed  the  record  of  the  ages  and 
started  time  on  a  new  cycle.  How  in  the  world  did 
it  happen?  The  Greeks  had  their  calendar  and  the 
Eomans  had  theirs,  and  the  Jews  had  one  that  was 
handed  down  by  Moses,  but  all  of  them  were  over 
shadowed  by  the  one  that  a  handful  of  Christians  set 
up,  and  for  1400  years  the  Anno  Domini  has  given  a 
date  to  every  birth  and  death  and  event  in  the  civi 
lized  world.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  I  was  an  infidel 
I  would  not  place  these  figures  at  the  top  of  my  let 
ters.  I  would  not  dignify  the  birth  of  a  child  that 


376  BILL    AKP. 

way;  I  would  rather  write  5894  as  the  date  of  the 
creation.  But,  no,  if  I  did  not  credit  Moses  and  the 
prophets,  I  couldent  choose  that  date,  and  so  I  would 
have  no  date— no  era  to  begin  with.  The  Greeks  had 
their  Olympiads  to  date  from,  and  the  Romans  the 
birth  of  their  ancient  city,  and  the  Mohammedans 
the  flight  of  Mahomet,  but  a  modern  agnostic  has 
nothing.  If  he  was  an  American  I  suppose  he  might 
begin  with  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  say 
January  114.  The  Jew  is  better  off,  for  he  has  a  faith 
—a  faith  as  strong  as  the  ages— and  his  era  goes 
back  to  Moses  and  the  prophets,  but  even  he  has  to 
conform  to  the  Anno  Domini  of  the  Christian  in  all 
his  business  relations  with  mankind.  If  he  was  to 
date  a  business  letter  or  make  out  a  bill  of  goods  ac 
cording  to  his  faith  it  would  be  returned  to  him  for 
explanations.  What  a  wonderful  thing  is  this  date 
—these  four  simple  figures.  We  write  them  and 
write  them,  but  we  seldom  ponder  on  what  they 
prove. 

On  New  Year 's  night  I  was  talking  to  the  children 
about  these  things,  and  about  the  long  journey  we 
had  taken  since  the  last  New  Year.  We  have  gotten 
back  to  the  same  place  in  the  universe  and  have  trav 
eled  nearly  three  hundred  millions  of  miles.  Talk 
about  your  cannon  ball  trains  and  your  lightning  ev- 
press!  Why,  we  have  been  running  a  schedule  of 
thirty  thousand  miles  an  hour  and  never  stopped  for 
coal  or  water  and  never  had  a  jostle  or  put  on  a 
brake  nor  greased  a  wheel.  Other  trains  have  crossed 
our  track,  and  we  have  crossed  theirs,  but  there  was 
no  danger  signal,  no  sign  board,  no  red  flag,  no 
watchman.  Was  there  ever  an  engineer  so  reckless 
of  human  life?  Fifteen  hundred  millions  of  passen 
gers  aboard,  and  they  sleep  half  the  time.  Did  ever 


BILL    AEP.  377 

passengers  ride  so  trustingly!  And  what  is  more 
wonderful  still,  our  train  has  a  little  fun  on  the  way, 
and  every  day  turns  a  somersault  twenty-five  thou 
sand  miles  round  just  for  the  enjoyment  and  health 
of  the  passengers.  Turns  over  as  it  goes,  turns  at  a 
speed  of  a  thousand  miles  an  hour  and  never  loses  an 
inch  of  space  or  a  moment  of  time.  Wouldn't  it  be 
big  fun  if  we  could  stand  off  away  from  the  train  and 
see  it  roll  on  and  turn  as  it  rolled  and  see  the  passen 
gers  all  calm  and  serene?  It  seems  to  me  that  if  I 
was  an  infidel  or  an  agnostic  I  would  want  to  get  off 
this  train— a  train  without  an  engineer— a  train  that 
has  got  loose  from  somewhere  and  is  running  wild 
at  the  rate  of  five  hundred  miles  a  minute.  Talk 
about  your  Pullman  sleepers  and  vestibule  and  din 
ing-room  cars!  Why,  this  train  carries  houses  and 
gardens  and  fruit  trees  and  everything  good  to  eat. 
It  is  a  family  train,  and  the  family  goes  along  with 
their  nabors  and  the  preacher  and  the  doctor;  and 
the  graveyard  is  carried  along,  too,  so  that  if  any 
body  dies  on  the  way  the  train  don't  have  to  stop  for 
a  funeral.  It  is  well  that  it  don  %  for  the  passengers 
are  dying  at  the  rate  of  a  hundred  a  minute  and  the 
train  would  never  get  anywhere  if  it  had  to  stop  to 
bury  the  dead. 

Then  the  children  got  to  talking  about  the  centuries 
away  back,  when  the  months  and  the  years  were  un 
settled  and  nobody  seemed  to  know  how  long  a  year 
was  or  how  to  divide  it;  when  the  changes  of  the 
moon  were  a  bigger  thing  that  going  round  the  sun ; 
when  there  were  only  ten  months  in  a  year,  and  the 
year  was  only  three  hundred  and  sixty  days,  and  so 
January  kept  falling  back  until  it  got  to  be  summer 
instead  of  winter ;  when  there  were  no  weeks,  except 
among  the  Jews,  and  the  month  was  divided  by  the 


378  BILL    AKP. 

Greeks  and  Eomans  into  three  decades  of  ten  days 
each ;  when  Julius  Caesar  tried  to  regulate  the  calen 
dar  and  made  the  year  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
days  and  gave  a  leap  year  of  three  hundred  and  six 
ty-six.  But  that  didn't  work  exactly  right,  for  it 
made  leap  year  eleven  minutes  too  long  and  so,  as 
the  centuries  rolled  on,  it  was  found  in  1582  that  old 
Father  Time  had  gained  twelve  days  on  himself,  or 
on  the  sun  or  something  else,  and  Pope  Gregory  con 
cluded  to  set  the  old  fellow  back  a  peg  or  two,  and  he 
did.  If  a  pope  could  make  us  all  twelve  days  younger 
when  he  pleased  to  do  it  he  would  be  a  very  popular 
man,  I  reckon.  But  the  calendar  is  all  right  now,  and 
the  civilized  world  has  adopted  it.  It  is  eleven  min 
utes  fast  every  four  years,  but  as  the  year  1900  is  not 
to  be  a  leap  year  the  gain  will  be  canceled  when  that 
year  comes.  Leap  year  used  to  double  the  sixth  day 
of  March  instead  of  adding  a  day  to  February,  and 
so  it  was  called  the  bi-sextile  year.  It  is  well  for  the 
children  to  know  these  things  for  they  are  worth 
knowing. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY—TEL.  NO.  642-3405 
This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


;.--. 


LD  21A-40m-2,'69 
(J6057slO)476— A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

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